


Fearless Vampire Hunters

by ms_katonic



Series: Elisif the Dragon-Queen [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Action/Adventure, Awkward Romance, Castle Volkihar, Dawnguard DLC, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Forsworn, Multi, Polyamory, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-04-26 20:36:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 92,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5019577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ms_katonic/pseuds/ms_katonic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Skyrim's at peace and the Dragonborn's hung up her adventuring gear to take care of her little girl and be Queen.  The Companions meanwhile are suffering a little - peace means less banditry, a free Reach means no trouble there and a place for rogue mages to go study legitimately, and they can only point Cicero at wildlife for so long before he becomes bored.  So when a job comes up in the Pale to look into a crypt that might be being used for arcane rites, Eola's only too happy to point him at the foe and let him get on with it, little realising Dimhollow Crypt contains far more than just beasts...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So there was this old post on the kink meme about adventures that the Dragonborn's followers get up to when the Dragonborn's busy. Given that Wolf Queen Awakens ended with a pregnant Dragonborn with a country to run who can't just go adventuring any more, the opportunity to write something for her friends to do was too much to resist. And so we have the friends of Elisif teaming up to do the one questline she never could, that doesn't require a Dragonborn.
> 
> THE STORY SO FAR: When dragons came back, no Dragonborn was called in Helgen. It was months before the Dragonborn realised who she really was, and the revelation shocked everyone. But once she knew her destiny, nothing could stop Jarl Elisif from doing her duty to Skyrim, and eventually, after adventures beyond counting, she'd taken Windhelm with the aid of a man who hated Ulfric Stormcloak almost as much as she did, brought the war to a premature but decisive end, rid the world of Alduin the World-Eater, and helped negotiate a treaty that granted independence to the Reach under the rule of her ally Madanach. Now married, and with responsibilities that have curtailed her adventuring days, including but not limited to a one year old baby girl and her husband's adopted kids, the Dragonborn doesn't often leave her home in Solitude. But there is still evil to be fought and many things in dire need of a good stabbing, and the Companions of Jorrvaskr are always happy to answer the challenge. Kodlak Whitemane may have left this world, but the woman and man he dreamed saved him from Hircine proved up to the challenge of saving him in truth, and Jorrvaskr now has a mage Harbinger for the first time in its history. However, what it also has is the Harbinger's husband who is just a bit too efficient when it comes to stabbing things, leading to a shortage of work available. At least until a disturbance in the Pale leads to an intriguing discovery and a disturbing new threat... Sequel to The Wolf Queen Awakens and contains spoilers for Dawnguard DLC.

9th Rains Hand, 4E 204 and the city of Whiterun was as peaceful as ever. Two years into the reign of Queen Elisif of Skyrim, and the country was prospering. Trade with the Empire was making the Nords rich, the dragons were beaten back and under control, co-existing in an uneasy truce with humanity, and if the price for all this had been the loss of the Reach to the Forsworn, a thank you from the Dragonborn to the man whose army had helped her take Windhelm and finish the war off, most Nords couldn't really be bothered to complain. Plenty of ways to die if you wanted to see Sovngarde, going up against the witchmen was widely regarded as being the least popular one. King Madanach wasn't openly practicing blood magic or performing mass human sacrifices, and if the newly incorporated second city of the Reach, Deepwood Vale, was presided over by the Reach's First Matriarch, widely rumoured to be not exactly human any more, no one wanted to be the one to catch her in her inner sanctum with the glamours off.

So Skyrim was at peace... and that meant bad news for Jorrvaskr. What had once been the Forsworn Rebellion was now the ReachGuard, keeping peace and helping resolve disputes and issues in the Reach, and meaning the Companions were now effectively redundant in the former Hold. And with young men and women no longer needed by either the Stormcloak militia or the Legion, they were joining the Hold guards instead, which meant banditry was down. Even the rogue mages were all trekking off to Hag's End Magical Research Institute these days. Which meant a problem for Kodlak Whitemane's successor as Harbinger, a woman who'd only been let in in the first place because Kodlak Whitemane had dreamed of her and her husband saving him from Hircine. It was even more of a problem for her husband... and her boyfriend.

“Brotherrrr,” Cicero whined, pawing at Athis's arm. “Brother, Cicero is _bored_.”

With the Dark Brotherhood wiped out, largely thanks to Astrid accepting a contract against the Dragonborn who'd assisted Cicero when his cart broke down and again when encountering him fleeing for his life from Astrid's werewolf husband Arnbjorn, and Cicero thinking preventing Astrid from claiming the five figure sum on said Dragonborn's head was the height of hilarity, Cicero's outlets for his particular needs had declined in scope. Joining the Companions hadn't been intentional, but he'd fallen in with them after joining the Dragonborn's side, met Kodlak, who'd been taken with him from the start, gone to live here... and the place had somehow become home. When Kodlak had been killed saving Cicero from the Silver Hand, Cicero had genuinely mourned the loss of a man who'd become almost a father to him. With the Night Mother being tended in a secret shrine in the Reach by Forsworn Sithis worshippers, Cicero had been at liberty to go anywhere... but he felt at home here and seeing as Kodlak had declared his lovely wife Harbinger, the first ever mage to hold that honour, Cicero had decided Jorrvaskr was for him. Where else could he be routinely pointed at a lot of people in need of a good stabbing and left to get on with it? Nowhere.

Except the chance to carry out some quality stabbing had declined of late. Hardly any bandits, only a mere handful of escaped convicts to track down, not as many necromancers as there used to be, and Cicero could only sneak up on wildlife so often before he became bored. As for the muscle jobs, they weren't even a challenge. Cicero only had to bounce up to someone these days and they'd drop to their knees and beg him not to hurt them, they'd deal with the problem, they swore it. Half the time there wasn't even a job, he just wanted to buy something or ask what the time was. It really was very dull indeed. And Athis, dear, sweet Shield-Brother Athis, who Cicero was generous enough to allow to sleep with his wife and not stab or anything, was not helping.

“Cicero, I'm training,” Athis snapped, shoving Cicero away and having a go at a training dummy. Cicero had to admire his technique. Athis and he didn't always agree on a lot, but they did agree on the finer points of how to carve someone up. “Can't you go bother Aela?”

“She is not here, she is off dealing with those Alik'r that are hassling Saadia,” Cicero sighed. “Ria and Vilkas are still in Morrowind slaughtering cliff racers, and Torvar has become very tiresome since he came back from Markarth having wandered into the Skooma treatment clinic by mistake and they recruited him into their temperance programme. As for the younglings, they are all so very... young.”

An awful lot of young Nords and indeed a few others, had joined up after the war, mostly those who'd been just a bit too young to fight and wanted to make up for it now. Which was very lovely, but Cicero, now forty three and starting to feel it, could only look at all these eighteen and nineteen year olds and wonder what their parents were thinking letting children wave weapons around.

“Don't I know it,” Athis sighed, and if Cicero at forty three was feeling old, a Dunmer of nearly 200 was definitely feeling a bit haggard by comparison. But he was also a skilled warrior in his prime, and thanks to his new Harbinger, could now boast some impressive Destruction magic skills as well. Cicero knew full well Athis was pining to test them on something.

“So you are feeling bored too!” Cicero grinned. “That is perfect, dear brother! Shall we find some entertainment together?”

“Cicero, last time I went out for a drink with you, we ended up halfway across the country having kidnapped a goat, accidentally become betrothed to a Hagraven, and got ourselves banned from the Temple of Dibella,” Athis growled. “I am not killing another giant for you, and you can just be grateful our father-in-law pulled a few strings and sorted the mess with Matriarch Moira out for us. If you're bored, why not head up to Solitude, visit Farkas? He always seems pleased to see you.”

“Cicero just got back from there the other day,” Cicero scowled, scuffing his feet against the courtyard's stone tiles. “He gave me a job sorting out Mralki of Rorikstead. So Cicero went all the way to Rorikstead, went to remonstrate with the man, and do you know what happened? He fell to his knees and begged forgiveness!! Cicero hadn't even done anything! It is so unfair, Athis, why do people always suddenly resolve their interpersonal conflicts as soon as humble Cicero is hired to intervene?”

“Because last time you actually did beat someone up, you had them writhing on the floor in agony, clutching at their genitals while you broke every finger in their left hand,” Athis sighed. “Not that Nazeem doesn't deserve it, but there's fistfights and then there's torture. I'm not sure you really understand the difference.”

“Brother, there is no point being crude about these things,” Cicero sighed. “You cannot just hammer someone with your fists and expect it to leave an impression. You must go for the vulnerable areas, manipulate the pressure points, have them at your mercy and then explain the error of their ways. There is an art to it!”

“An art to it?” Athis snorted. “I really do not want to know what your previous company's ethos was if they encouraged that.”

Cicero just smiled innocently, as he always did when anyone mentioned the mysterious mercenary company he'd been involved with in Cyrodiil before his mother died and he'd brought her corpse north to Skyrim to bury in Falkreath cemetery as per her dying wish. They had disbanded a long time ago, Cicero told everyone. They were a small and select group, you would not have heard of them, he told everyone. Only Aela and the Harbinger herself knew the truth about who he'd worked for before, and Aela only put up with it because the Dragonborn liked him and because he was nominally reformed, if by reformed you meant 'only stabbed outlaws and the truly deserving these days, where anyone could see him anyway'.

“Please, brother?” Cicero pleaded. “Please come with Cicero to Dragonsreach and see if there are any bounties to be had? Pleeeeaaaasssseee?”

“You don't need me to accompany you to Dragonsreach,” Athis sighed, only to see Cicero cough nervously and shift awkwardly from one foot to the other.

“Actually, Cicero does. After the incident with the soul gems and the cooking pot, and the Dwemer Centurion core, Cicero is no longer allowed in Dragonsreach without a responsible adult,” Cicero admitted. “Athis, Athis, please, Cicero is bored and miserable and... please!”

Athis sheathed his sword with a sigh. Truth be told, it had been a while since he'd done any jobs. He could do with getting out and about for a bit, even if it did mean having to put up with Cicero. He just hoped there were no Daedric shenanigans this time.

“Fine,” Athis sighed. “Let's go find our lady friend.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“PRETTY EOLAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!”

Eola winced as Cicero's shriek echoed down the central corridor. She loved Cicero, of course she did. Her first introduction to him had been to see him murder a fellow Dark Brotherhood assassin in cold blood right in front of her, and she'd only had cause to become more impressed with him as the years had gone by. All the same, if you wanted peace and quiet and needed to concentrate, as one might sometimes need to do when, say, doing Jorrvaskr's accounts, Cicero was not the man to have around.

“Hello Cicero,” Eola managed to get out as she found herself being squeezed to death by her motley-clad husband. “Don't tell me you missed me, you were only upstairs!”

“Cicero isn't allowed to miss his precious little sweetroll?” Cicero cooed, nuzzling her ear. Eola did have to smile at that. 

“I suppose, I know you get lonelier than most,” Eola smiled, turning to face him and noticing Athis hanging back and looking on. “And there's my favourite elf! Did you want a cuddle as well?”

“I can live without one,” Athis promised, grinning at the pair of them. If Cicero was the partner in crime and constant source of extravagant emotion, Athis was the calming influence, the steadying hand, the one she could just relax with and enjoy the quiet. Of course, this was usually easier to achieve when Cicero wasn't in Jorrvaskr. Which was why she usually didn't send them out on jobs together.

“Eola, is there any work?” Cicero purred. “Athis and I were bored. Is there something in desperate need of stabbing? Please say yes!”

“You're offering to go on a job together?” Eola asked, feeling a little bit disheartened at the thought of them both leaving. Not to mention the sort of thing that usually happened when they did – first they turned up with a talking dog, then there'd been the infamous drinking contest that had led to an irate letter from her father about having to deal with Dibellan priestesses insisting Cicero had desecrated their temple, and then not only having to placate him over that but go grovelling to him and her aunt to persuade Matriarch Moira of Witchmist that Athis really wouldn't make a very good husband. She wasn't entirely sure what they'd get involved in next.

“Well, it's been a while since I last took one, and Cicero's clearly getting restless,” Athis shrugged. “Might as well get him out of your hair for a bit. What do you say? Got anything for us?”

Well, there was something... Eola picked up the letter bearing the official seal of the Jarl of the Pale and handed it over.

“Yeah. Jarl Brina's been hearing reports of strange lights and noises coming from a cave near that shrine to Mehrunes Dagon Cicero and I visited last year. Wants it checking out. Might be nothing. Might be bandits. Or necromancers. But she wants it looking into. Reckons the Vigil of Stendarr were looking into it, but she's heard nothing from them. Maybe you can swing by the Hall while you're there. Tell Keeper Carcette the Jarl's not someone to be kept waiting.” Eola smiled sweetly at Cicero, who cackled with delight. Cicero knew Eola's feelings about the Vigil all too well. An opportunity to intimidate and threaten their Keeper was not to be passed up.

“Dimhollow Crypt,” Athis read, frowning. “Never heard of it. You sure this is going to be worth our while, Eola?”

“Honestly, I have no idea,” Eola sighed. “But the last time a cave had weird lights and sounds coming out of it, someone was summoning Potema the Wolf Queen. If the Vigil were investigating, it was more than beasts. I think it's worth checking out. You find anything interesting, let me know. I can always find a use for arcane secrets.” Or a buyer, and given that she rather owed Matriarch Keirine a favour after the whole Moira mess, Eola would take anything she could get.

“Dimhollow Crypt it is then,” Athis said, pocketing the letter. “Get your things, Cicero. We've got a job to do.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Several hours on the road, and Athis was thinking it wasn't so bad, travelling with Cicero. He'd swapped his motley for the black and red leather armour that had been a wedding gift from his in-laws, found in an old storeroom at Hag's End apparently, and he had his daggers at the ready, one wicked-looking one called the Blade of Woe that he'd taken off a dead enemy, and another sharp one with an Oblivion Gate on the scabbard that Cicero claimed to have 'found' lying around Skyrim. Taken off a dead foe more likely, but Athis wasn't going to complain. Cicero's daggers weren't carving into him and that was all Athis cared about.

They were however carving into thieves, bandits, rogue mages, wildlife and indeed anyone else who glanced the wrong way in Cicero's direction, and while Athis wasn't averse to a good fight, Cicero took enthusiasm to whole new levels.

Or at least he did until one thief tried to apprehend Athis just north of Fort Dunstad. Cicero sprang squealing into action, the wind knocked his cowl back... and his jester hat fell out of his pocket.

Cicero squeaked and raced back for his precious hat... but that was nothing compared to the thief's reaction.

“Oh fuck, it's you??” the thief cried. “Fuck it, keep your gold, I'm off- ack!”

Athis took advantage of the thief's distress to carve his head off, much to Cicero's delight.

“ _Marvellous!_ ” Cicero breathed. “You are very good at that, Athis. Blood _everywhere!_ Truly, it's like watching an artist at work.”

“Quite,” Athis replied, cleaning the blood off his Skyforge blade. “Say, what did he mean when he saw you? Did you know him?”

Cicero peered at the severed head and shook his head.

“No. At least, Cicero doesn't think so. Cicero might have met him in a tavern or something. But it isn't Cicero he recognised, brother! It was the hat. Skyrim doesn't have jesters any more. In the whole of Skyrim and the Reach, the only person who ever wears a jester's clothes is humble Cicero. And, well, Cicero travels a lot. Cicero visits taverns and tells of his exploits. And sometimes Cicero lets one live to tell the story. A practice Cicero is regretting.” Cicero scowled as he tucked his much-loved hat away. “Now every highwayman from here to Markarth recognises Cicero. Cicero never gets to stab any of them any more! They all run away!”

“Wait a second,” Athis interrupted, realising what this meant. “Are you telling me that if you'd worn your bloody hat, we wouldn't have had half the interruptions we've had on the way up here??”

“No!” Cicero squealed. “Hasn't it been _exciting!_ ”

“You little...!” It was only with an effort that Athis restrained himself for smacking the little bastard's face in. Eola wouldn't be pleased if he beat up Cicero, he reminded himself. But he could make the most of Cicero's apparent notoriety among the criminals of Skyrim. Grabbing Cicero's hat from his belt, he promptly shoved it back on Cicero's head, ignoring the outraged squeak from Cicero.

“Here. Wear that the rest of the way. Yes, we've had a good time warming up, but we're nearly there now and we want to conserve our strength for Dimhollow, don't we?”

“Yes Athis,” Cicero muttered, scowling as he adjusted the hat, but being a bit too fond of it to take it off now. And so Cicero scampered after Athis, being no trouble, and sure enough there were no further incidents until they neared the Hall of the Vigilants.

“Are we nearly there yet?” Cicero called as he caught up with Athis.

“Yeah, nearly,” Athis said. “It's just over this hill. Er... Cicero? I think maybe you should wait out here.”

Cicero's fallen face was a picture of misery and surprise. 

“But why, brother?” Cicero whined. “Why can't Cicero come in? Cicero was looking forward to it! Cicero wanted to menace some Vigilants!”

“Because your armour looks like it was taken off a Dark Brotherhood assassin, the Blade of Woe's not a lot better, you've got the Sanguine Rose strapped to your back, and your other dagger's got Daedric artefact written all over it,” Athis sighed. “Maybe you should just let me handle it.”

“Oh but brother...” Cicero purred, sidling up to him, fluttering his eyelashes hopefully. “Brother, they need to know we mean business! What could be more intimidating than a Companion of Jorrvaskr turning up dressed in Daedric paraphernalia?”

“They'll attack you on sight!” Athis snapped. “Azura's wisdom, Cicero, Eola expects me to bring you back in one piece!”

“And you will, you will!” Cicero protested. “Cicero is skilled, Cicero knows his business, Cicero will not come to harm!”

“Tough,” Athis snapped, turning away before the little jester's pouting and sad little orphan eyes could overwhelm even Athis's hardened instincts. “We're not here for a fight, we're here for answers about Dimholl- ohhh.”

The snow had obscured the Hall previously, but the wind had just died down, the clouds had parted and the Hall of the Vigilants was now fully visible in the early afternoon shadows... but even they weren't enough to conceal what had happened. 

The roof was caved in, smoke drifting up from charred timbers, blood on the snow and with it bodies. It was painfully obvious that this was why Jarl Brina hadn't heard anything from them.

“Azura have mercy,” Athis whispered, and the irony of an Azura worshipper committing the souls of Vigilants of Stendarr to the afterlife was not lost on him, but someone needed to say something. Cicero for one was lost for words, staring at the devastation in amazement.

“Come on,” Athis said quietly, taking Cicero by the arm. “Let's go investigate, see what happened.”

The first clue was the animal found dead just outside. It looked like a dog... if dogs had skeletal frames and rotting black skin and unholy teeth. Even Cicero looked a bit unnerved, poking it with his dagger.

“Have you seen its like before, brother?” Cicero asked nervously. 

“No,” Athis replied, but he'd heard Vilkas tell of something similar on his last trip to Riften, of two of these in the marketplace one night, attacking the townsfolk, and only the swift actions of Vilkas and Mjoll the Lioness had saved Riften from casualties. Yet it hadn't been the dogs that had caused the problem. It had been the thing leading them. A vampire.

Sure enough, in among the bodies of two dead Vigilants, were the remains of two vampires, dust scattered everywhere, sightless amber eyes staring up at the wall. The Vigilants had fought back well, it seemed. Just not well enough.

“Well, Eola will be pleased,” Cicero said cheerfully, poking at Keeper Carcette's charred and bloodied remains near the former altar. “She's never liked the Vigilants.”

Not a surprise – tensions between the Vigil and the Mournful Throne had always been high, what with King Madanach rewriting the entire legal code for his new kingdom and somehow forgetting to outlaw Daedra worship, and the Vigil protesting that the new regime was a cover for necromancy, cannibalism and untold human misery. Eola's dislike of the Vigil wasn't exactly a surprise, but even so, she seemed to despise them more than most. Given that the Vigil were also known for protesting outside Windhelm's Unity Temple to Azura and Mara, Athis sympathised. Even so, they hadn't deserved this. They meant well, even if their methods were a bit heavy-handed. 

It looked like the Daedra worshippers of Skyrim had decided enough was enough. Or some of them at any rate.

“You ever heard of vampires getting this organised before?” Athis asked. It wasn't the first time he'd heard of vampires attacking settlements – just lately he'd heard of a spate of isolated incidents, but the guards had always fought them off. This though, this wasn't a raid. This looked like a calculated assault on the most organised faction that might take action against vampires.

“Not much,” Cicero said softly. “But Cicero has heard rumours. Tales. Stories of vampires teaming up to attack, where before they would stay out of sight and remain concealed, passing for human where they were noticed at all. Cicero knew one once, in his old company. She prided herself on being thought of as insignificant and harmless until it was too late. She would never openly attack anyone. Cicero doesn't mourn the Vigil, but this... for vampires to do this is troubling. He is reminded of Madanach's tales of Forsworn raids but they were fighting for their land, for their freedom! What would vampires be fighting for? They don't have a homeland!”

What indeed. Athis didn't want to think about it. Eola's tale of how she and Cicero had unmasked a plot in Morthal to enslave the entire town was the only tale of organised vampiric predation that Athis knew of, but Cicero swore they'd slaughtered everyone and Morthal had had no trouble since.

That vampires might be planning something similar in the Pale was not a cheering thought.

“Well, there's not a lot here to tell us what else they're planning,” Athis sighed. “Come on, Cicero, let's find this Dimhollow place. I have a feeling this is connected.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The first sign that something was wrong was the voices as Athis and Cicero entered the crypt's main chamber. Cicero dived into the shadows, pulling Athis with him, and they both listened in.

“These Vigilants never know when to stop,” one, a male Altmer from the sound of it, said. “I thought we taught them enough of a lesson at their Hall.”

“He fought well though,” his companion, a female Dunmer, noted. “The others were no match for him at all.”

Cicero crept closer, unslinging his bow and peering out into the cave, seeing the two elves staring down at the body of a recently killed Vigilant. The woman's eyes were glowing gold in the shadows, sure sign of a vampire, and from the sound of it, one of the ones who'd attacked the Hall of the Vigilants. Honour clearly demanded Cicero kill them all. Raising his elven bow, one of the few weapons he had that he'd actually paid good money for, Cicero took aim and shot the woman through the throat.

She fell back, clutching at her neck, and her male companion turned, weapon raised and magic at the ready. Cicero would have shot him too... but he'd missed the third enemy in the room, a death hound who could smell him and knew exactly where he was. The hound howled a warning to its master and pounced on Cicero, teeth sinking into Cicero's wrist guards. Cicero shrieked abuse at it and dropped his bow, grabbing Mehrunes' Razor and stabbing viciously at the animal, keenly aware that the remaining vampire was bearing down on him too... and then Athis was there, fire in one hand and a Skyforge sword in the other, taking on the vampire, burning the vampire even as the vampire's blood magic drained Athis's strength. But that equilibrium only lasted until Athis closed with the vampire, and then his superior swordsmanship came into its own. Moments later, the vampire was falling to the floor, dead properly this time, and Athis was sinking to his knees, waiting for his strength to recover. Cicero by this point had dealt with the Death Hound, knocked back a healing potion and came to fuss over his Shield-Brother.

“Athis, Athis, dearest sweetest Athis, are you well? The filthy parasite has not harmed you?”

“I'm fine,” Athis gasped, accepting the potion Cicero offered and feeling his strength mostly recovering. “Here, help me up.”

“Brother, are you sure you are well, you look awfully pale,” Cicero said, looking rather sceptical. Athis shook him off irritably. He'd be fine. He just needed to walk it off. Absolutely in no way did he need Cicero fussing over him.

“I'm _fine,_ ” Athis snapped. “Come on, let's see what else is here. There must be a way past that gate somehow.”

Cicero looked dubious but didn't press him. A search of the cabin revealed that the female vampire's enchanted armour fit Athis well enough, and that there were some potions and a nice ebony sword in a small tower to the north... along with the chain to open the gate onwards.

“Do you think there are more vampires?” Cicero purred, grinning at the corridor.

“Almost certainly,” Athis agreed, hefting his new sword. “Shall we clear them out?”

The delighted squeal from Cicero was all Athis needed to hear. And so the two of them pressed on, encountering more vampires and undead thralls and even some Draugr. All easy prey for two seasoned Companions, and so Cicero and Athis proceeded onwards, finally reaching a vast underground chamber with a huge structure of some sort in the middle.

“What _is_ that?” Cicero whispered, fascinated. Athis placed a finger to his lips, keen elven ears picking up the sound of voices further within.

“Don't know. Let's get closer and find out,” Athis murmured. Dunmer and Imperial crept closer, listening in.

“I'll never tell you anything, vampire! My oath to Stendarr is stronger than anything you could inflict on me!”

“Oh, I believe you, Vigilant,” the vampire being addressed purred back. “And I don't think you even know what you've found here.”

A gurgle and the sound of a sword being sheathed indicated the poor Vigilant's death.

“Are you sure that was wise, Lokil?” another vampire, a woman this time, asked. “He still might have told us something.”

“Bah, he knew nothing. Come, let us tell Lord Harkon of what we've found here – what was that?”

The sound of Athis's own sword being drawn had grabbed both vampires' attention, not to mention that of their dog, already bounding up the stairs towards them.

“Oh well done, brother,” Cicero muttered, drawing his bow and downing the dog. “Stealth, brother, stealth, it has many virtues when you are not built like a Nord, Cicero wonders why you're not better at it.”

“Oh shut up,” Athis snapped, leaping from the shadows and carving into the one called Lokil. “Just do what you do best and kill things.”

So Cicero did, and two vampires, one Death Hound and one thrall fell to Cicero and Athis's blades and arrows, and finally all that was left was two Companions surveying the scene.

“So that's the Vigilant who was exploring this place,” Athis noted, kneeling by Adalvald's remains. “Wonder what he was looking for.”

“Who cares, let us see what he _found!_ ” Cicero squealed, already bouncing across the bridge to where finely sculpted pointed arches adorned the central island, a style utterly unlike other Nordic ruins Athis had seen. Athis reached for Adalvald's notes and began reading. Dimhollow Crypt... linked to ancient vampire clans of Skyrim... large central island clearly added later and not built by the ancient Nords... gargoyles as well... all signs indicating that this was all added by some ancient master who favoured necromancy – or vampirism, or possibly both, which was definitely not what Athis wanted to hear. 

What he wanted to hear even less was Cicero howling in agony, but sadly for him that was exactly what he got.

“Azura's sake, Cicero, what happened?” Athis cried, racing to where Cicero was collapsed on the floor in the middle of the central island, kneeling by the central monolith, blood pouring down the stonework as a vicious-looking spike jutted up, neatly impaling Cicero's left hand.

“Cicero! By the gods, Cicero!” Athis cried, and Cicero sobbed as the spike retracted back into the stone, releasing Cicero's hand. Cicero sank into a little ball, wailing and sobbing and his wails didn't get any quieter when the entire island shook and purple fire erupted.

“Athiiisss!” Cicero wailed. “Athis, what is happening??”

“What did you do?” Athis snapped, kneeling next to Cicero and casting Healing Hands on his hand.

“Cicero didn't do anything!” Cicero sniffled, before even he had to admit that really wasn't true at all, was it? “Only there was a pillar, and it had a button on it, and Cicero wondered what it did so he pressed it and it _stabbed me!_ Athis, it stabbed poor Cicero, it hurt his poor hand!”

“Yeah, and whose fault's that?” Athis said tetchily. “Here, drink this. And perhaps you'll think twice before pressing random buttons in dark caverns in future?” 

Cicero sniffled and nodded, flexing his fingers and rather miserably poking at his torn glove, as if Eorlund wouldn't be able to fix it for him, honestly. Athis, now that Cicero wasn't actually bleeding and seemed to have regained the use of his hand, went to have a look at the purple fire. A whole line of it, and it seemed linked to these braziers somehow. He wondered what it was.

“What is it, brother?” Cicero asked, peering over Athis's shoulder.

“I'm not sure,” Athis mused. “You're the one who woke it up, don't you have any ideas?”

Cicero shook his head. Athis wasn't sure what he'd expected. Cicero's knowledge of the arcane was... patchy to say the least. He wished Eola was here. She knew all sorts of magical things, including things most people probably shouldn't know, and that probably included blood magic. Cicero's blood had woken something up, that was clear, and it was probably linked to whatever these vampires were after. If the vampires wanted it, it was practically a moral duty to find it first and take it away. Eola might be interested, and her kin back in the Reach definitely would be. But first he had to find out what it was. He poked the brazier in the middle of the purple fire and was surprised to find it could move. Hmm. This was worth trying.

“Cicero, give me a hand with this.”

Cicero did, raising an eyebrow but helping push the thing, and to both their surprise, something happened. The brazier lit up, and the line of fire changed, winding its way further along and stopping just short of another of the braziers.

“Move that one too!” Cicero whispered, enthralled. So they did, and the fire continued moving to the next brazier, and by this point they'd got the hang of it, and it wasn't long before the fire circled the central pillar entirely.

The flames met, all the braziers flared, the ground shook, and Athis nearly fell over as the floor beneath sank, level stone becoming steps as the ground fell away to reveal that the spiked pillar was only the top of a massive stone monolith, revealed as the magic did its work. Finally the movement stopped, leaving Cicero and Athis picking themselves up and glancing nervously at the monolith.

“What now, brother?” Cicero whispered. “Is it going to do anything else?”

“I don't know,” Athis said softly, reaching out to touch the stone face of the monolith. “Must do, they wouldn't go to all this trouble if there wasn't something here -” He broke off abruptly as the side of the monolith sank down into the stone to reveal that the monolith itself was hollow... and inside it was a woman in black and purple armour, a pale-skinned, dark-haired Nord from the look of it, arms crossed over her chest and eyes closed as if in sleep... or death, but there was no sign of decay about her. But how long had she been there and how'd she survived with no food or drink?

Then she opened her eyes and Athis had an answer to one of the questions. Vampire.

Cicero had already drawn his dagger.

“Well brother, do we end her?” Cicero murmured. Athis placed a hand on Cicero's wrist, staying his hand. Kill her and a vampire was dead. But find out who she was and they might just find out why vampires were suddenly organising.

“Ughh... where am I?” the woman gasped, staggering unsteadily to her feet and blinking in confusion. “What... who are you?”

Cicero's dagger was gone as soon as he'd drawn it.

“Hello!” he cooed. “This is humble Cicero and his dear Shield-Brother Athis! We're Companions of Jorrvaskr, we are, we are! And we were here to, um, that is, the Jarl of the Pale...”

“Jarl Brina hired us to investigate this cave after people reported strange noises coming out of it,” Athis said, seeing the woman's vaguely appalled reaction to Cicero and deciding a voice of reason was called for. “Er, don't mind Cicero here. He's... a little odd but he's not so bad when you get to know him. So, er, miss, what were you doing in there?”

“Not an awful lot,” the woman said, raising an eyebrow. “This may surprise you but there's not a lot to do when you're shut away in a stone box for... however long I was in there. I think it was a long time.”

“How long?” Athis wanted to know. A vampire could survive indefinitely, he knew, but he was curious as to how long this woman had been shut away. “And why were you in there in the first place?”

The woman immediately shied away, on the defensive. 

“I'd really rather not get into that with you, if that's OK,” she said, and Cicero's eyes narrowed.

“The mysterious vampire is not being very forthcoming,” Cicero growled. “Cicero is wondering why we are spending time talking with her when we were supposed to be killing whatever was down here.”

The woman's eyes widened and Athis smacked Cicero on the arm.

“Cicero!” Athis snapped, hauling Cicero to one side and lowering his voice. “Look, we're trying to find out why those vampires killed the Vigil of Stendarr and what they were doing here. Clearly they were looking for her, so she's probably got answers, which we're not going to get if we kill her!”

“Yes, but she is not giving us any answers, brother!” Cicero hissed. “She is being evasive! Untrustworthy! Hiding something! Brother, we would be better served ending her now!”

“Not if you want your answers, you won't,” the woman called, frowning at Cicero rather coldly. “Yeah, vampire, and I can hear you, you know. You know, you're one to talk, I would have thought a werewolf would have been a little more tolerant.”

Werewolf?? But Athis wasn't a werewo- oh. He turned to stare at Cicero, who'd gone very still, very quiet and had an expression on his face Athis had never seen on him before. Terrified guilt.

“You're a werewolf?” Athis demanded. Cicero hesitated before glancing at the woman then nodding once.

“How the fuck long have you been a werewolf?” Athis cried. “Azura, Cicero, does Eola know??”

A longer pause this time, and Cicero nodded again.

“Yes. And she does not mind... she has never spoken of werewolves to you?” Cicero was raising an eyebrow now, looking strangely curious.

“It never came up,” Athis growled. “Fucking Oblivion, Cicero. Werewolves! I don't know... look, never mind, we got better things to talk about. Such as this woman... vampire... whoever you are...”

“Serana,” the woman cut in. “My name is Serana. _Pleased_ to meet you.” The sarcasm could not have been more pronounced. Cicero had the grace to cough nervously and look at least a bit ashamed of himself.

“Hello Serana,” he said, beaming at her as if he'd not been suggesting stabbing her a few minutes ago. “How long have you been stuck in that horrible monolith? It must have been a very long time. No one has been down here for ages and ages, and Cicero is sure someone would have remembered someone building all this.”

“I don't know,” Serana shrugged. “Hard to say. Who is Skyrim's High King?”

“High Queen,” Athis corrected. “And it's Jarl Elisif of Solitude – by Azura, she's been queen over two years now, you must have been there a while.”

“You missed the whole civil war between the Empire and Stormcloaks!” Cicero squealed. “And the dragons coming back! It's all been very exciting!”

“Dragons were gone?” Serana said, scratching her head. “And... Empire? What Empire?”

Cicero and Athis couldn't help but stare at this, staring at the vampire then back to each other, both thinking the same thing. How could someone not have heard of the Empire??

“The Empire,” Athis said slowly. “In Cyrodiil.”

Serana almost smiled at this. “Cyrodiil is the seat of an Empire?” she said, seeming to actually find that amusing, and Cicero narrowed his eyes. He wasn't exactly the patriotic type, but it turned out his mother was ex-Legion and Cicero was at least a bit proud of his home.

“Yes, Cyrodiil is the seat of an Empire!” Cicero snapped. “It has been the capital of the Septim Empire for over five hundred years, and there were two other Empires before that! Cicero is from there, Cicero grew up in the Imperial City, Cicero knows!”

“All right, all right, I believe you!” Serana protested, backing off and raising her hands in supplication. “I guess I must have been in here a while – definitely longer than we planned. Five hundred years, really?”

“Yeah. Really,” Athis told her, feeling a little sympathy for her. Couldn't be easy, waking up and realising hundreds, maybe thousands of years had gone by. Even a vampire would have to be a little thrown by that.

“Who is we?” Cicero inquired, sidling up to her. “You said 'we' planned all this. Who is we?”

Serana's head whipped round, gold eyes staring him down, all her defences back up. 

“That's complicated. And I'm not sure I can trust you just yet.” Serana saw the hostility coming back into Cicero's eyes. “Look, all right, you want to know more about what's going on? Help me get home. My family used to live on an island to the west of Solitude – I would guess they still do. I'm not sure what I'll find there, but depending on who's around, I should be safe.”

“Why wouldn't you be safe?” Athis asked, glancing at Cicero, whose gaze had softened considerably when she'd mentioned her family. That was Cicero all over – the little psychopath would happily kill anyone and everyone given a chance, but mention family and he'd come over all sentimental. Athis knew his mother had died in the Great War and left Cicero a young orphan, and as for Cicero's father, there was some tragedy there, a mystery of sorts, something Cicero didn't want to talk about but which grieved him greatly. What Athis did know was that Cicero was obsessed with the idea of family and creating a happy one wherever he could. If this Serana had family issues, it was pretty much a guarantee Cicero would want to help. 

“Is there someone sweet Serana doesn't want to see?” Cicero asked, tones gentle and sweet for once. Serana did smile a little on seeing Cicero's concerned little face staring up at her.

“Oh no. Nothing like that. I'm not in any danger or anything. Only... my parents had a bit of a falling out. I have no idea what's gone on since I was gone, but it'll be more unpleasant to run into my father.”

“He is not a good man?” Cicero asked, head tilted in curiosity. Serana shrugged.

“He's a vampire lord,” Serana sighed. “Draw your own conclusions. Come on, we should get moving. If we're going.”

“We're going,” Athis promised. “Listen, we need to go to Dawnstar first and report to the Jarl. After that, sure, we'll take you home. Won't we, Cicero?”

“Yes, yes, of course, of course!” Cicero purred, taking Serana's arm and beaming up at her. “Cicero shall happily help the pretty vampire find her family! Come, come, let us find the exit. We're going to be fast friends. _Fast_ friends!”

Athis shot Serana a sympathetic glance. Being enemies with Cicero was by definition regarded as being a very bad move. But sometimes, being friends with him wasn't an awful lot better.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cicero and Athis take Serana home... and begin to regret it immediately.

The cavern exit turned out to be farther than they expected. It turned out to be full of skeletons and Draugr and a couple of gargoyles that came to life and attacked. But it also turned out Serana was a capable mage and a skilled necromancer and more than capable of holding her own. And so Serana's magic, Athis's blade skills and Cicero's sneak attacks and dirty fighting carried the day (“brother, you have not lived until you have kicked a Deathlord in the balls!” “Are those wise words from your mother as well, Cicero?” “SHUT UP ABOUT MY MOTHER, ATHIS, OR CICERO SHALL... er, heh heh, brother, let us not fight in front of pretty Serana, hmm? She is staring at us.” “I'm wondering how the pair of you survived long enough to even find that monolith, never mind get me out of it”). And despite a delay while Cicero laboriously copied down the glyphs on the Word Wall at the end for the pretty Dragonborn who would surely appreciate a new Word of Power, wouldn't she, Athis, the three of them were eventually making their way to Dawnstar.

“It's so bright out here,” Serana whispered, pulling her hood up in the early morning winter sunlight. “I don't know how you stand it!”

“But it is lovely and sunny, sweet Serana!” Cicero cooed, apparently unbothered by the fact they'd been in there all night. Bloody werewolf stamina. Bloody _werewolves_. Honestly, who else in Jorrvaskr knew? Were there others?? It didn't bear thinking about. 

The fact that Athis was on the verge of exhaustion himself, and the sunlight seemed to make it worse somehow, didn't help. Sleep. A few hours sleep would help sort this out, right? Right.

And so it was agreed that Cicero would take Serana to this little sanctuary he knew of just outside town to wait out the day there, while Athis reported in to the Jarl and then slept at the inn. Athis was tired enough not to question Cicero's overkeenness for Athis to not come with him to this sanctuary, and merely agreed to meet outside the old Vesuius house at sunset. So Cicero led Serana off and Athis staggered into the White Hall to report to Brina Merilis that Dimhollow Crypt was now safe, but at the cost of the Hall of the Vigilants.

“Ill news indeed,” Brina responded, eyes shadowed. “There's been vampire attacks on settlements both in this Hold and elsewhere, but I'd hoped it was coincidence, sporadic attacks here and there by creatures so desperate to feed they'd attack indiscriminately. Alas, it appears otherwise. Attacking the Vigil shows intent behind this, and that they succeeded speaks of organisation. Still, it seems you've thwarted their intent in the Pale. You're sure they found nothing in Dimhollow Crypt?”

“We killed them before they could unearth anything. Whatever they hoped to find there is lost to them,” Athis promised.

“All the same, I suppose I'll need to post guards there,” Brina sighed. “Never mind. It's not for you to worry about. I'll notify the High Queen of what's transpired – she's concerned about the increased reports of vampire attacks in Skyrim, and while her husband's the last person to mourn the Vigil's loss, I know Markarth's had vampire attacks too. Here, take this with my thanks. You've earned it. Oh, and be sure to stop by the Windpeak Inn and rest before leaving for Whiterun. You really don't look well.”

By Azura, he really wished people would stop bothering him. First Cicero, now the Jarl of the Pale. But while he could be snappy with Cicero, he couldn't afford to be rude to Jarls. So Athis took the coin, thanked her, dropped by the Windpeak Inn, paid for a room and fell asleep at once.

Meanwhile Serana followed Cicero as he led her through the town, past the docks, out on to the beach, round the cliffs and towards a black door hiding under a cliff ledge. A black door with a skull and five smaller ones emblazoned on it.

“Er, Cicero, should we really be in here?” Serana began, eyeing the door nervously. The thing was giving her the serious creeps and she'd been raised by Molag Bal worshippers.

“Yes!” Cicero enthused. “Do not fear, dear Serana, lovely Serana! Cicero has been here before! It is quite safe!”

“Ri-i-i-ight,” Serana said, folding her arms and waiting while Cicero skipped over to the door and whispered something to it. Then the door slid open.

“Coming?” Cicero cooed. “Do not worry! Cicero isn't planning to murder you!”

That was not reassuring, in fact it was the opposite of reassuring and sunlight be damned, town full of vampire-phobic humans be damned, Serana was very tempted to turn and run back to the inn and take her chances with the mortals. But Cicero was beaming at her and clearly not about to take no for an answer, and so Serana reluctantly followed the demented little jester inside.

It wasn't quite as bad inside as Serana had feared. No blood, bodies or sacrificial altars. Just the empty remains of what had once been someone's living space but no more. Cicero set up some bedrolls by the empty fireplace and began stoking up the fire.

“Take one, take one,” Cicero said, pointing at a bedroll. “The pretty vampire must rest! Cicero is going to have a little food and then sleep. Serana may do the same... if vampires still eat, of course. Sadly, Cicero has no blood other than his own, and Cicero isn't sure Serana should drink his blood. Cicero would not mind, but, er, it might turn Serana into a werewolf as well. That would be... bad. The first turning is... intense. It is not something one should undertake without... preparation. Serana might become confused and upset! Serana might run out of the Sanctuary in a panic and eat half the town! It is very dangerous. Why, when Cicero had his first turning, four people died!”

“Why, were you confused?” Serana asked, only to see the gleam in Cicero's eyes and realise that no, he'd not been confused, he'd had a very good time.

“No!” Cicero giggled. “But Serana does not need to hear this. So Cicero shall go to bed and Serana may explore if she wishes. Only Serana should not venture down the snow tunnel. That would be bad. Very bad.”

“Why, what's down the snow tunnel?” Serana asked, already glancing over at the entrance.

“Serana doesn't want to know,” Cicero said, snuggling into his bedroll and rolling over. Serana narrowed her eyes and wondered what he was hiding. Quite a lot, she could tell. So she left him to it and decided to explore. 

There wasn't a lot. Mostly fallen-in corridors, a bridge over what turned out to be an old training room and armoury. One book on archery and another on the history of Tamrielic assassins' guilds, principally the Morag Tong of Morrowind, and their Cyrodiilic offshoot and rivals, the Dark Brotherhood. Serana had never heard of either but she looked at Cicero and had to wonder if perhaps he had more knowledge of both than he was saying. Then there was the snow tunnel. Now what on Nirn was down here? So Serana explored... and when the troll lumbered into view, she had her answer.

“Where'd you come from??” Serana yelled, blasting Ice Spikes and lightning at it, backing off and wishing she'd bothered to learn fire magic, and this was not going well, even draining its life wasn't working fast enough, damn it!

And then an unearthly howling echoed through the tunnels, the thudding of footsteps behind her, and then a red-furred beast barrelled past her, shrieking as it pounced on to the troll and tore into it, blood spurting everywhere as one beast ripped another apart, the red one's claws sending the troll flying.

It looked a bit like a wolf but surely not...

The troll breathed its last, and the wolf-thing sat back and made a rather strange noise that sounded almost like it was laughing, and then it began to preen itself, meticulously cleaning its fur off. It didn't seem interested in Serana at all, and then Serana got closer and recognised the scent.

“Cicero??” Serana gasped, and the wolf looked up, tongue out and mouth curved into what looked like a grin, and then it bounded forward, sitting on its heels in front of her and actually barked, before inching closer and rubbing its head against her while making this ridiculously cute whining noise and promptly rolling onto its back.

Serana knelt down, unable to help smiling. Honestly, it was just like CuSith or Garmr, fierce on the outside but secretly willing to do anything for a belly rub. So she gave Cicero a belly scratch, even laughing a little as Cicero rolled around on the floor, barking happily and seeming to be quite enjoying himself... until Cicero turned back and she was stroking the chest of a naked man.

Serana yelped and sprang back like she'd been burned, and Cicero's grin had gone very fixed. Then he glanced down, whimpered nervously and promptly covered his bits.

“It does not normally look like that,” Cicero said nervously. “Only it is very cold in here.”

“I don't care – gods, can you just get dressed!” Serana cried, mortified. Cicero whimpered nervously and nodded, scampering off still clutching his privates while Serana looked away, almost wishing she was still in that stone coffin. She didn't move until she heard Cicero call back down the tunnel.

“Cicero is dressed now! Serana can come back!”

She came back to find Cicero hunched down in his bedroll, armour back on and a rather nervous look on his face. Well, at least he was suitably embarrassed, and so he should be.

“Thank you for killing the troll, and Daedra's sake, I did not need to see you naked!” Serana cried. “I'm not into... I mean, look, I – I don't want to – you're not my type!”

Cicero just whimpered again and nodded frantically. 

“Yes Serana,” Cicero whispered. “Cicero is sorry, Serana! Cicero didn't mean to – Cicero was being friendly! Cicero likes belly rubs when he's in beast form, it's nice! But... er... Cicero forgot it wears off. Um. Er. Cicero shall stay here! In his bedroll. Covered! Dressed! Definitely not nude and in no way wishing to inconvenience and embarrass poor unprepared Serana!”

“Good,” Serana snapped, crawling into her own bedroll. “Because you're cute. But not THAT cute!”

There was only another embarrassed whimper from Cicero, and Serana sighed and prepared to sleep. He had saved her, she supposed. At least he'd had the nerve to look embarrassed. And he'd been the unexpectedly naked one. And he wasn't trying anything stupid. She'd dealt with worse. 

_Such as my father offering me to Molag Bal._ Serana closed her eyes and tried not to see the Lord of Domination's form flash before her eyes. She'd made her peace with it a long time ago, understood it had been the only way to avoid seeing her once beloved father die in front of her. But all the same, it didn't make the nightmares go away.

~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Athis's mood hadn't improved much when Cicero and Serana finally deigned to show up, Serana looking a little rattled by something, and Cicero looking rather nervous and unusually submissive, even for him.

“About time you two showed up,” Athis snapped. “I've been waiting over an hour for you.” About the only saving grace had been feeling his energy return once night fell, but he still felt... restless. He wasn't sure why. All he knew was that Cicero had been keeping him waiting and if the little idiot wasn't married to Athis's girlfriend, Athis was fairly certain he'd have hit him by now.

“Cicero is sorry!” Cicero gasped. “We overslept. But we are here now! And look, there is a ferry available! Shall we ask if he will take us to Serana's home?”

Serana trailed behind, hefting the backpack she'd had with her in that monolith. Odd shape for a backpack though, long, thin, easily four feet long. What in Oblivion was in it?

The covering slipped to reveal gold and a glinting jewel that caught the moonlight.

“Azura, what's in there?” Athis gasped. “Is it valuable?”

Serana cursed and re-covered it.

“If you must know, it's an Elder Scroll,” Serana snapped. “And it's mine.”

“Why in the Void have you got an Elder Scroll?” Athis demanded, at the same time as Cicero poked nervously at it and anxiously asked if they needed to be careful with it.

“That is none of your business,” Serana said tersely. “And don't worry, Cicero. It'll be fine. It's an Elder Scroll, they're not fragile.”

“That's not what bothered me,” Athis muttered, and Cicero was still looking a bit worried as the two approached the ferryman. Gods, but this vampire gave him the creeps. Sooner they got this woman back to her family and out of their hair the better.

Of course, first they had to get there, and judging from Cicero's attempt to negotiate with the ferryman, it wasn't going well.

“Five hundred septims? FIVE HUNDRED SEPTIMS???” Cicero shrieked. “We are going to Icewater Jetty near Northwatch Keep, not all the way to Daggerfall! The fare to Solitude is only fifty septims, Icewater Jetty is not ten times the difference, the sea not ten times rougher! This is DAYLIGHT ROBBERY!”

“Actually, it's not. Daylight, that is,” the unperturbed ferryman replied. “You want night travel, you pay extra. Five hundred septims or you can walk it.”

Cicero growled before turning to Athis.

“Brother, he is charging an outrageous amount,” Cicero snarled. “I suppose that is most of the money the Jarl gave you.”

Athis admitted that was the case. “But if it bothers you that much, we could just pay fifty and walk from Solitude.”

Cicero scuffed at the snow and muttered something about 'too far' and 'too cold' and 'ice wraiths'. 

“I suppose we cannot accept his offer, let him take us there and then slit his throat on arrival and reclaim our gold,” Cicero sighed.

“No,” Athis said firmly, not for the first time wondering just who Cicero's previous company had been. Not one with any honour, that was certain. “Look, we picked up all sorts of loot in Dimhollow, we'll sell some of that, it's fine.”

Cicero muttered something about never getting this sort of treatment back in Cyrodiil, but with Serana tapping her foot impatiently and Athis insisting on acting honourably, Cicero had no choice but to go along with it. Honestly, they wouldn't have had this trouble if Eola was here instead. Eola would have thought his plan to go along with it then murder the ferryman, take their gold back and hide the body was a fine one. They could even have cooked and eaten the corpse after dropping Serana off. They could have had a romantic beachside picnic. It would have been nice. Cicero still had some Alto wine in his rucksack, that went with anything. Alas, Cicero was stuck with the insufferable elf. What Eola saw in him, Cicero had no idea, although Cicero was willing to bet Athis knew nothing of the Namira worship. She certainly hadn't told him about the beast blood from the sound of it. Honestly, what sort of partner kept that sort of thing from their beloved? Still, not Cicero's place to judge. He made a mental note to have a quiet conversation with Eola on his return to Jorrvaskr, make clear that this could not end well. But for now, they had a vampire to reunite with her family. Her father might not be a good man, but he was still her father and Cicero wasn't one to keep a father and daughter apart. And so the three of them boarded the boat and set sail. Castle Volkihar awaited.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“Hey. So. Before we go in...”

Serana was hanging back behind the two men, hood up as the sun started to rise behind distant Mount Haafingar, looking pensively up at her childhood home.

“What now?” Athis growled, and he was getting ridiculously short-tempered just lately, or so Cicero thought anyway. Yes he wasn't always the friendliest of people, but he was usually fairly patient with people who weren't intolerably rude. In the last day or so though, he'd been positively snappy. As if he was hungover or something. Was he ill? He could be ill, Cicero supposed. Even so, he could at least make an effort to be civil.

“Is something wrong, lovely and forgiving Serana?” Cicero inquired, feeling one of them should be polite, if Athis wasn't going to bother.

“No,” Serana sighed. “At least... look, I wanted to thank you both for getting me this far. I know you went some way out of your way to help me home and spent all that coin on the ferry and didn't stab the ferryman either, for which thank you, Cicero, I didn't really want to have to help dispose of a body on my first day awake.” 

“It was... no trouble,” Cicero said, grinning despite the involuntary gritting of the teeth that occurred as he remembered Athis holding his hand and digging his nails in and firmly hissing “no!” in Cicero's ear.

“Anyway,” Serana continued, muscle in her cheek only twitching slightly as she repressed a grin at Cicero. “I just wanted to let you know that I'm not sure what we'll find when we get in there, but afterwards, I'm going to go my own way for a while. And... I know you're both Companions of Jorrvaskr and committed to the path of honour and all that, and that you're probably more accustomed to walking into vampire lairs and slaughtering everything in there.”

Enthusiastic nodding from Cicero, until Athis nudged him to perhaps be a bit more tactful, and Cicero stopped nodding and just schooled his face into polite neutrality instead.

“Well, I'm hoping you can both show a little more control than that,” Serana said, before glancing at Cicero. “That includes not transforming, Cicero. I don't really want to see you naked again.”

Cicero went bright pink and spluttered as Athis turned to look at him, truly fascinated on hearing this.

“It was... that is to say... it was unintentional!” Cicero managed to get out. “Accidental! And... and it was cold! Cicero doesn't normally look like that!”

Athis by this point was desperately keen to know what happened and even more desperately trying not to laugh, and Serana was smirking herself as she led the way to the castle gates. 

There was a human watchman on duty, who stared in amazement as Serana walked in, but recovered his wits sufficiently to unlock the door. Cicero and Athis ran closer to Serana and stayed close behind as they entered into a castle of potentially hostile vampires.

One such vampire, an Altmer who'd almost certainly been in his later years on being turned, was striding forwards to greet them, and he did not look happy. 

“Who are you intruders?” the vampire snapped. “How dare you trespass here- wait. Serana?”

“It looks like I'm expected,” Serana commented as the Altmer practically raced into the main hall.

“My lord! Everyone! Serana has returned!”

A rustle of activity as an entire court convened, the name Serana on everyone's lips, and as Serana walked back into the court with all the confidence of a vampire princess, Cicero and Athis glanced at each other before huddling together in a rather un-Companionlike fashion and sidling along in Serana's wake.

“Serana! My long-lost daughter, returned at last. And you have my Elder Scroll, I trust?”

The vampire in fine purple and black armour, flowing cloak like Serana's, and her pale skin and dark hair, advancing towards her with arms outstretched, must be her father. But the hug he gave her was nothing like the warm, enthusiastic bear hug that Madanach gave Eola whenever he saw her. No cooing over his baby girl from this man.

“Of course I have the scroll, honestly, all these years and that's the first thing you ask me?” Serana sighed. Serana's father laughed once, delighted smile barely shifting, and Cicero had a feeling that perhaps, just perhaps, bringing Serana here was not actually a good thing and that reuniting her with her father was a Very Bad Idea.

“Of course I'm delighted to see you, my daughter. Must I really say the words aloud? Ah, if only your traitor mother were here. I'd let her watch this reunion before putting her head on a spike. Now tell me, who are these strangers that you've brought into this hall?” He'd turned his attention to them, still that calculating smile on his face that reminded Cicero very forcefully of Madanach, except without the warmth that Madanach was known to show towards his people. Cicero edged closer to Athis.

“They're my saviours, the ones who freed me,” Serana explained. “They're called Athis and Cicero.”

Cicero nodded nervously, smiling despite being quietly terrified. Cicero didn't fear a lot, but this man was giving him a serious case of the chills.

“Athis and Cicero,” the vampire murmured. “I take it the human is Cicero – it sounds like a Cyrodiil name.”

“Yes sir,” Cicero whispered. “Humble Cicero, sir, at your, er, service. And this is his brother in arms, Athis.”

“Sir,” Athis said curtly, inclining his head. “Serana told us what you are. We've returned her home at her request, we intend no further intrusion.”

“I'm glad to hear it,” the vampire smirked. “My name is Harkon, lord of this court. And we are among the oldest and most powerful vampires in Skyrim. For centuries we lived here, far from the cares of the world. All that changed when my wife betrayed me and stole away that which I valued most.”

Cicero didn't like to ask whether he meant Serana or the Scroll. He was very definitely reminded of Madanach by this point, Madanach's first marriage was notorious for having been a disaster for all concerned and Eola barely had a good word to spare for her thankfully now deceased mother. But one thing Cicero did know, Madanach might not be the nicest man out there but above and beyond even his own life or cause, he loved his children. He wasn't remotely convinced the same was true of Harkon.

Athis was clearly thinking along similar lines, because that question was the first thing out of his mouth.

“That being Serana, I trust. Are you going to offer us a reward?”

Harkon's fangs flashed in a grin that unnerved Cicero to the core, and he'd seen Matriarch Keirine with her glamours off and not flinched.

“I was about to suggest that very thing,” Harkon laughed. “For my daughter's safe return, you have my gratitude, of course. But there is only one thing of equal value to Serana and the Elder Scroll. My blood. Take it, both of you, and you will walk as lions among sheep. Men will tremble at your approach and you will never fear death again!”

A confusing thought for Cicero, because he didn't fear death anyway. He'd regarded it with ambivalence at worst, but more often as an old friend, and any anger he had towards death was for taking his blood mother away from him too soon... and many years later, taking his father too, before Cicero even realised they were kin. Hard to forgive that, and Cicero didn't think he'd be following either into the afterlife, not really... but that didn't stop him wishing he could follow after them. He could hardly do that if he was an immortal vampire, could he?

Also he didn't want men to tremble at his approach. If they knew he was there, something had gone very very wrong.

“What, you're offering to make us vampires?” Athis said, voice sounding strangled, and Cicero was relieved to know Athis at least was of like mind on this.

“Yes,” Harkon nodded. “Well?”

“What if we say no?” Athis growled. “Forcing us into it doesn't sound like much of a reward to me.”

“Oh I would not force you,” Harkon laughed. “If one or both declines, I will spare your life this once as a reward and banish you from this court instead of killing you. But after that, like all mortals, you become prey. Well, what do you say?”

“Um, sir?” Cicero managed to get up the courage to say. “Cicero is already a werewolf, what happens...?”

“Yes, I know, I can smell it from here,” Harkon growled, grimacing as he acknowledged the aroma of the beast blood. “Don't worry, my blood will purge that filth from you. You'll be whole again.”

Whole?? But Cicero was whole now, a child of two Daedra, a child of Hircine and Namira, with Sanguine and Mehrunes Dagon also taking an interest, and despite having lost both his blood parents, and the Night Mother abandoning him, Cicero didn't really regret where he'd ended up. Not to mention Aela's reaction when she found out he'd thrown Hircine's blood away. It truly didn't bear thinking about.

“Perhaps you still need convincing,” Harkon added, seeing them wavering. “Behold the power!”

Blood veins appearing on pale skin, Harkon seeming to bow, blood coating him entirely, and then in seconds it was done and Harkon no longer looked remotely human. A vampire form like a werewolf's beast form or a Hagraven's true face, and there were fangs and wings and claws and oh Sithis, Cicero was in a lot of trouble.

“Brother...” Cicero whispered. “Brother, we need to...”

Athis didn't need telling twice. Taking Cicero's hand in his, two Shield-Brothers who usually bickered non-stop united for once, Athis gave the reply.

“Fuck that. Cicero, we're leaving.”

Cicero nodded, slowly backing away, free hand going to his dagger as Harkon furiously raised his hands to cast.

“Then you are prey!” Harkon growled. “I banish you!”

The spell hit them both, and until they woke up, dazed and confused on the beach near Icewater Jetty, Cicero and Athis knew no more.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our heroes realise that fighting vampires can sometimes have... consequences. Meanwhile, over in Mor Khazgur, Borgakh the Steel Heart discovers that there's a world outside the stronghold, and she's got allies she never imagined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why yes, that is a potential Kaie/Borgakh femslash ship in the works!

“Brother!”

Athis opened his eyes, groaning in the far too bright sunlight.

“What?” Athis muttered. “What do you want... ow my head.”

“Brother, wake up!” Cicero hissed. “There is a Thalmor fort not five minutes from here, we cannot linger! And we should be gone by sunset before they decide to chase us!”

“Right,” Athis whispered, letting Cicero help him up. He saw the logic, he really did, but his head was fuzzy, he was tired, thirsty, it was too bright, and the last thing he wanted to do was move. “Inna second, Sis'ro.”

“No,” Cicero snapped. “We need to move now. Come ON, brother! Do not make Cicero change forms and carry you.”

Perish the thought. Athis shuddered at the mere idea of being dragged along by a werewolf – a werewolf! Cicero was a werewolf. Who the fuck thought that had been a good idea, and how long had he been one? Athis didn't know but he knew he badly needed to talk to Eola. In the meantime, best to just stay close to Cicero until they got back to Dragon Bridge where they could rest before going home. 

If he could keep his eyes open long enough to get there... So Athis trailed after Cicero, remained alert enough to help kill a few wolves but didn't bother trying to hold down a conversation despite Cicero's babbling. Athis just closed his eyes against the too-bright sunlight and kept walking, idly wondering why if there was so much snow on the ground, it wasn't colder, and since when had snow been red, why was the sky red, why was everything...

Cicero turned round just in time to see Athis slump to the ground, and ran back, shrieking at his Shield-Brother to get up, get up, oh why didn't you tell poor Cicero earlier that you were ill, Cicero could have taken you to a healer or a priest, oh Athis, Athis, open your eyes, talk to your poor brother, you are not allowed to die, Athis! Athis? ATHIS!

Cicero shook the prone Dunmer frantically, realising just how cold his skin had got and that he couldn't feel a pulse and that Athis wasn't breathing, oh Sithis no, _Athis wasn't breathing_ , now how did this hitting the chest until they started breathing again thing work?

Mercifully Cicero's pitifully vague memories of resuscitation techniques weren't required. Athis's eyes flicked open as he gasped for air that, had he realised it, he no longer needed. But Cicero knew. Cicero could tell his brother wasn't alive any more. He couldn't hear the heartbeat, or at least, it wasn't thudding like it used to. He couldn't hear breathing, not at the right rate anyway. And perhaps more importantly, Athis's eye weren't red any more. His skin was pale grey not dark grey and his eyes glowed gold.

By Sithis. This was very very bad.

“Athis?” Cicero cooed nervously. “Athis, how are you feeling?”

“ _Hungry,_ ” came the response. “Sort of. Don't know what for though. Fuck me, it's bright out here, feels like my skin's boiling up.” Athis blinked and saw for the first time the worry on Cicero's face. “Cicero, what... what just happened? I don't remember what happened after we left the castle...”

“You were very dopey and confused,” Cicero admitted. “Cicero wondered if you were ill, but you insisted you were well, so Cicero did not press matters – oh Cicero knew, he knew all was not well! He should have pressed harder, taken you to a priest, anything! Anything at all, before it was too late!”

“Too late – what in the Void are you talking about – ow!” Athis hadn't realised he had fangs yet and had managed to bite his lip. Swearing, he licked the blood up... before realising it tasted different, and then he inhaled and actually flinched back from Cicero.

“Fucking Daedra, Cicero, when did you start smelling of dog??”

“That is the beast blood, brother, and you could not smell it before,” Cicero whispered, looking and feeling utterly wretched, but it was best Athis know sooner rather than later. “Athis, you have been feeling ill since Dimhollow, haven't you?”

“Yeah,” Athis admitted. “But it was fine, nothing really, I was just tired, but I feel fine now, or I would if it wasn't so hot!”

“IT IS NOT HOT, IT IS BARELY ABOVE FREEZING!” Cicero shrieked. “AND IT WAS NOT NOTHING, BROTHER, YOU CAUGHT SANGUINARE VAMPIRIS OFF ONE OF THE FIENDS, DID NOT GET IT TREATED AND NOW LOOK AT YOU!!!”

Athis had raised a hand to his mouth, feeling unfamiliar fangs, then feeling his face and realising that while he felt warm inside, his skin was cold to the touch, and paler than he remembered, and slowly Athis realised what had been wrong with him for the last couple of days. Tired during the day, weaker than normal, thirsty at night for something he couldn't describe... by Azura.

“Cicero,” Athis croaked, wishing Cicero would say something, do something, ANYTHING other than just stare wretchedly at him. Because that meant it was true, didn't it? It meant he'd refused Harkon's offer only to turn into a monster anyway.

“Cicero, am I a vampire?” Athis finally asked, and Cicero lowered his head and nodded.

“Yes,” Cicero whispered. “Oh brother, brother, do not fear, Cicero will help, Cicero will take care of you, it will be all right!”

“How can it be??” Athis yelled, staggering to his feet. “I just turned into a blood-drinking creature of the night, an abomination against the natural order, and you tell me it's going to be all right? There's no cure for vampirism!”

“There might be!” Cicero protested. “Kodlak did not think there was a cure for lycanthropy but it turned out there was! Maybe there is one for vampires too!”

“And if there isn't??” Athis cried. “What if I'm stuck like this forever? I can't go back to Jorrvaskr like this! I can't go anywhere! Where the actual fuck can I go that doesn't treat vampires like a plague to be purged??”

A gentle touch on Athis's arm from Cicero, and Athis looked up to see the little fool was actually looking thoughtful.

“There is somewhere, brother,” Cicero said gently. “It is not even far. There is a country where vampires are not persecuted and consensual blood-drinking is permitted, and there is even a blood donation programme for those who have a medical condition that requires regular infusions of blood.”

“What?” Athis demanded. “What are you talking about, what sort of messed-up country would legalise all that... oh no. No, you are kidding, aren't you.”

“I would not jest about things like that!” Cicero protested. “We are barely ten miles from Hag's End, Matriarch Keirine will be happy to help!”

“Fuck no, after the whole Moira thing, I'm not asking them for help!” Athis insisted. “I'd rather die-!”

“ _Do not tempt me!_ ” Cicero snarled, covering the ground between them before Athis even registered he'd moved, hands fisting into Athis's new vampire armour – well, at least he was properly attired. “As it is, Eola would be very unhappy if you died or disappeared. Eola would be very upset and Cicero would have to console her. Cicero doesn't like seeing his sweetling unhappy. So you are coming with him to Hag's End where we will meet Matriarch Keirine and find out what can be done! Cicero is NOT taking no for an answer!!”

Everything in Athis wanted to scream no. Everything in him wanted to run far far away from the Reach Kingdom and its Hagraven elders. Everyone knew Daedra worship was legal there, everyone knew cannibalism was only a civil offence there not a criminal one as long as you'd only found the corpse not killed it, and the deceased didn't have kin to complain, and that unless you registered an opt-out with Understone Keep, your remains on death were likely to be harvested for any organ worth using so that they could be transplanted into people with failing organs. No one, absolutely no one, with any sense of sanity or decency would want to live there. Despite Deepwood Vale being home to a sizeable Dunmer population who'd decided life under Madanach during his brief tenure as Jarl of Windhelm was better than any Nord ruler. 

But try as he might, Athis couldn't think of anywhere else that would help a newly-turned vampire, and he knew he couldn't go home now. 

“She'll tell Eola, won't she,” Athis whispered, feeling his heart breaking as he tried to imagine Eola's reaction to finding out her boyfriend of not even a year yet was now an undead blood-drinker. Cicero nodded sadly.

“She likely will, yes,” Cicero admitted. “Cicero thinks all vampires in the Reach have to register with the Mournful Throne, and Madanach will notice if a Companion of Jorrvaskr's name appears.”

Well, that was that then, he might as well say goodbye to his relationship now. Memories of sitting up near the Skyforge with Eola, watching the stars with her, quietly obsessing about her and wondering if he was imagining the way she kept smiling and edging closer and touching his arm... and then that time he'd gone to Mzinchaleft to fetch Mjoll the Lioness's sword back and Eola had insisted on going with him and they'd got lost three times, ended up camping... and ended up kissing. That had been when Eola had quietly explained she and Cicero weren't exactly monogamous and that Cicero had a bit of a penchant for big burly men which she let him indulge on the quiet and in return she and Cicero had agreed she'd be able to take a lover if she liked, and Cicero approved of Athis. They'd returned to Jorrvaskr, and sure enough, Cicero had cooed, declared Athis his brother, and cheerfully vacated the Harbinger's room when Athis was in there, and even went so far as to bring them both breakfast in the morning. It had been very disconcerting, as had the upswing in cuddling and calling him dearest, sweetest Athis. But it had been worth it to have someone in his bed again, and more importantly, someone to fight alongside, whose magic could beat down enemies while he carved them up, and she wasn't bad with a sword either. It was thanks to her encouragement that he'd started learning and using magic again, life in Skyrim having previously convinced him that fire-wielding elves weren't exactly welcome here, and it had been like rediscovering he had two arms after all when he'd previously thought only one worked. It had been like coming home. She'd been like coming home. And now he'd probably lost her for good.

“Will you tell her I'm sorry,” Athis said softly, turning away. “I'll write the letter if you want, just tell her I'm so sorry. I hope she'll find it in her to understand some day.”

“Understand... sorry for what?” Cicero said, scratching his head. “It is not your fault you were infected!”

“That hardly matters, does it?” Athis cried, throwing his hands up in the air. “I just turned, and she's not going to want a bloodsucking monster who's going to have to subsist by sinking his teeth into other people's flesh in her bed, is she??”

Not a word from Cicero, and Athis glanced over his shoulder to see Cicero opening his mouth as if to say something and then closing it again, grinning as if at some secret only he knew, before skipping over and patting Athis gently on the shoulder.

“Cicero thinks you do not give Eola enough credit,” Cicero said gently. “Cicero thinks her attachment to you is strong and that she will cope with the news better than you think. Cicero also knows she is a witch of the Reach, and they are not easily repulsed by anything. Athis, dear Athis, Cicero will tell her for you if you feel you cannot go to Jorrvaskr yourself, Cicero will return home and fetch our beloved so you may speak in person... but you should not act as if she has already rejected you when she does not even know.”

Athis wanted to believe him, but surely it was only a matter of time by this point. Still, Cicero knew Eola well, and Cicero's eyes were staring earnestly up at him. It was hard to stand there and disagree to Cicero's face.

“All right then,” Athis sighed. “We'll do this your way. We'll go to Hag's End, throw ourselves on Matriarch Keirine's mercy and see if she can help. And then you can go back to Jorrvaskr, tell Eola what's happened and... and bring her to me, if she's still willing to talk to me.” Athis couldn't avoid his voice breaking a little as he said the words, and he couldn't find it in him to shove Cicero away as the little jester snuggled up to him.

“She will want to,” Cicero murmured. “She will be worried. Come, come, let us be moving. The sunlight cannot be good for you. Let us go quickly! Hag's End is not far now.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Mor Khazgur stronghold fell silent as the visitors faced off against their chief. Quite honestly Chief Larak would have preferred to bar the gates and keep them out, but, thanks to his son in exile, their ultimate leader was now Blood Kin.

That, and he wasn't entirely certain they wouldn't have just blasted the doors off if he'd said no.

Which meant he was face to face with an entire platoon of ReachGuard warriors, swathed in their fur and bone armour, and it might all look primitive but the witchmen weren't pushovers. Which was the sole and only reason he was putting up with this blue-haired witch's attitude. Blue hair, for goodness' sake. What sort of man let his daughter dye her hair that ridiculous shade? Hair should not match the sky.

“Chief Larak,” Reach-Princess Kaie ap Madanach, Heir to the Mournful Throne, greeted him. “Thank you for agreeing to see us.”

“Don't get too far ahead of yourself, witch,” Larak growled. “Your father's Blood Kin and I have to respect that. But you're not. You're here on sufferance. Unless your father's decided to do as an Orc should and marry you off to a stronger chief.”

Kaie's silver-blue eyes flared and lightning crackled at her fingertips, but her temper was easier kept than her father's and no magic got out of control. 

“Queen Elisif's already married,” Kaie purred. “And other than her, my father's yet to find one. Sadly, you'll have to be content with the wives you have. Although you're not far off the mark. The King of the Reach is more interested in what you have to offer him. He is the stronger chief after all.”

Larak got to his feet, growling. Maybe it was true, maybe King Madanach commanded the allegiance of all the Reachman strongholds and the wealth of the mines. But he didn't command Larak, not yet, and this blue-haired freak had some nerve coming into his stronghold and insulting him.

“You be glad you're not a man or I'd be calling you out for that, witch,” Larak snarled. “As it is, your father will be hearing about this! We aren't even in the Reach anyway, this is Nord land. You shouldn't even be here in force.”

“You pay your taxes to Solitude, do you?” Kaie laughed derisively. “That's not what I heard. You don't honestly think Jarl Elisif's going to ride to your defence, do you? You don't recognise her authority or Imperial authority and the only reason your little settlement is still even standing is because it's not worth the bother of destroying!” Kaie stepped forward, glaring at Larak and not fazed despite the foot of height he had on her. “Don't give me a reason.”

“Your father sends a woman to negotiate and thinks he's not given me a reason to fight already?” Larak snarled, this close to done with her. But he wasn't that hot-headed for an Orc chief and he did have the tribe to think of. “Pah. State your business, witch. Let's hear what the Reach-King wants.”

Kaie smiled, eyes glittering in the sunlight. 

“You have a daughter, don't you. Borgakh, known as the Steel Heart. Newly of age, promised in marriage to another stronghold leader, due to leave soon, yes?”

Borgakh had stepped forward on hearing her name mentioned. Yes, she was of age now, yes they were sending her to wed Yamarz of Largashbur, and yes she would do her duty... but that didn't mean she liked the idea. To hear her name mentioned by the Reachfolk visitors, by King Madanach's heir no less... this was unexpected. 

They didn't look like much. Humans, not even that big for humans, and that armour wouldn't hold up to much. But they did dress like warriors at least, and most of them had tattoos on their skin and bone piercings in their soft tissues, and Borgakh knew they were called the witchmen for a reason. Who knew what magic they had at their command. Especially Kaie, standing in the middle of them all, and her armour wasn't fur at all, it was a black leather skirt, top to match, black straps everywhere, black fur lining and gold plated bones and chain links holding it together. Then there were the finely beaten gold feathers adorning the shoulder. Fragile, princely, enchanted. The mark of the heir to a kingdom with coin to spare, and all of it topped off with hair dyed the same shade of blue as the summer sky, braids hanging down the side of her face but the sides shaved close to the scalp. And she was staring down Borgakh's father as if she thought she was his equal – no, his superior. Other than the wise woman, Borgakh had never seen any woman stare down an Orc male like that, still less a chief, and she'd never seen warriors, including men as well as women, falling into line behind a woman before. This Kaie, she had power, probably more strength and power than any Orc chieftain. 

It made Borgakh wonder why she couldn't marry Kaie.

“What in Oblivion has my daughter got to do with this?” Larak growled. “She's betrothed to Chief Yamarz of Largashbur, they need capable warriors to help see off giants in the region. Madanach can't have her.”

“Madanach doesn't need another wife, he already has one and she can breathe fire,” Kaie snapped. “And as for her betrothal, it's too late. Yamarz is dead. He let giants defile Malacath's shrine, and Malacath declared him unworthy. Now he's dead, and if you want to send Borgakh to Largashbur, you'll need to renegotiate her dowry with the new chief. Personally, I wouldn't bother. I'm making you a better offer.”

Dead?? Yamarz was dead?? She wasn't going to Largashbur after all? Borgakh could have cried with relief, but she was an Orc and such weakness was beneath her. So where did this leave her? Here, she supposed, until a new agreement could be reached and a new husband found. Unless of course, her father actually accepted the Reachkin offer. Borgakh held her breath, wondering what it was. Her services, but not as Madanach's forgewife. Interesting.

“Yamarz is dead?” Larak gasped, before shrugging the loss off. “Eh. He was weak. If it's Malacath's will, so be it. But I'm not just handing over my daughter to the Reach-King for nothing. He pays bride-price like any other man. Whether he claims husband's rights is up to him. I'd think him weak if he didn't... but I also know that first wives get a say in this sort of thing and his first wife's hardly weak. I'm guessing someone who killed a dragon-god doesn't have to submit to her husband like some other wife.”

Kaie smirked at that, laughing quietly to herself. “You presume correctly,” she admitted. She stood aside and waved through two more warriors carrying a large chest of gold, jewels and weapons, much of it enchanted.

“Bride-price,” Kaie announced. “Yours for Borgakh's hand. Also friendship between Mor Khazgur and the Mournful Throne. We send smiths here to learn crafting, you can send people to us to learn whatever we know and are able to teach. We'll buy your ore, your goods, you can buy ours. Sell your surplus goods to us and we'll make sure you never starve. How about it, Chief Larak?”

Larak hadn't stopped staring at the gold long enough to listen. It was a phenomenal amount, more than the bride-price Yamarz had offered. His eyes got even wider when Kaie added that the bride-price also included a pair of breeding goats.

“Sold,” Larak agreed, actually deigning to shake Kaie's hand over it, and Kaie grinned in triumph.

“See, I knew we could come to a civilised arrangement,” Kaie purred. “Now where's Borgakh.”

Borgakh stepped forward in a daze as the goods were handed over, Reachmen carrying them to where her father directed.

“Greetings,” Borgakh managed to get out. “I am Borgakh the Steel Heart. I heard what you said to my father. Am I really to wed the King?”

“You're to serve the Reach in whatever capacity King Madanach desires,” Kaie said, smiling at her, and this was not the smile Kaie had given her father. This was a genuine, gentle smile, a kind one even. Whatever Kaie's motives were, Kaie clearly didn't see her solely as a trophy or child-bearer. “But we can discuss the details later. Come on, get your things. We're leaving.”

Borgakh didn't think twice. She had a ticket out of here, didn't have to marry some grizzled old Orc chief she'd never met, and her family honour wasn't harmed. Today, Malacath was clearly smiling on her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Business concluded, the Reachmen left, and after saying her goodbyes and promising to represent the stronghold with honour, Borgakh went with them, her few possessions packed. It was mostly just her armour, a couple of books, and the sword her brother had forged before the ill-fated challenge he'd made to their father and lost, leading to his exile. None of them had seen or heard from him since, although there was a rumour he'd taken up banditry and been imprisoned by the humans, and Borgakh had a suspicion her father knew more than he let on. That had been over ten, no, nearly fifteen years ago now though.

She wondered if it was worth asking Kaie if she could find him. But not yet. Not until she'd found out what they wanted with her.

“So I imagine you're wondering what this is all about, hmm?” Kaie said, not unkindly. Borgakh found she could only nod in response. 

“Well, don't worry, you're not marrying my father,” Kaie laughed. “We'll let your da think that if it makes him happy, but now you're not in Mor Khazgur, what's he going to do, eh?”

“So why do you need me, Reach-Princess?” Borgakh asked, glancing at the impassive warriors guarding them. “You have many skilled warriors at your disposal. Why me.”

“Oh, several reasons,” Kaie said calmly. “Firstly, my father has an Orc bodyguard and I wanted one. I'm heir to a powerful and wealthy kingdom, and if the Nords have their housecarls, I want one too. There's also the little matter of no one being more loyal than someone who owes you everything. Organising arranged marriages for one's children is hardly unusual for nobles, but there's a difference between vetting candidates and arranging introductions, and just selling your children to the highest bidder, don't you think?”

“It's the Code of Malacath,” Borgakh shrugged. “It's guided our people well for centuries.”

“Not all Orcs think so,” Kaie replied, a rather cunning little smile on her face. “Markarth's full of Orcs who left their stronghold behind to seek a better life. Plenty of Orcs don't want to be some chief's wife, or don't agree with the way their chief runs things. You wouldn't be the first.” A pause, and then Kaie turned to smile at her, a knowing, cunning smile that unsettled Borgakh deeply, and her next words nearly broke her. “Your brother didn't.”

Borgakh felt the world come to a standstill as she realised her brother hadn't vanished into the Void after all. He was in the Reach somewhere and Kaie knew, had known all along, must have done. Why else come to Mor Khazgur and claim her specifically? Why else deal with Yamarz – because Borgakh had a feeling his death was no accident. Her brother, her only full sibling, hadn't cared about much in the stronghold, had hated his father... but he'd cared for his little sister, promising her that if this challenge worked, if he won, he'd be chief and Borgakh would never have to leave, ever. Of course, it hadn't and she'd lost her brother for good.

“What do you know about my brother??” Borgakh snarled. Kaie blinked and then smiled, raising a hand to quiet the ReachGuard warriors who'd all gone for weapons or raised spells.

“Easy,” Kaie said gently. “We're not enemies. And your brother's fine, doing well in fact. Come on, we're nearly there.”

There turned out to be a small camp consisting of a few tents grouped around a fire... and poking the fire was a male Orc in Orcish armour as good as hers if not better.

“Hey, Borkul!” Kaie called. “It worked! We got her! Turns out that for a chest of gold and a couple of goats, your Da's anyone's.”

Borkul got to his feet, laughing. “Yeah, that figures. Two goats or one daughter? Larak's not gonna think twice. Kids are just commodities to him. Now, where's my little sister?”

Borgakh had stopped in her tracks, staring as she saw Borkul approach, familiar smile on his face, all easy strength and confidence, broader shoulders, a few scars, hair grown out a little but otherwise looking not that different. Like his younger self but stronger. Borgakh had a feeling that if he went home and challenged Larak now, he'd win easily.

“Borkul?” Borgakh whispered, and her brother nodded, smile softening.

“Yeah. Hello sis. No hug for your big brother?”

Borgakh had just been a little girl when she'd last seen him. He'd kissed her goodbye, gone out to fight their father, and when her father had survived and decided to kick Borkul out due to his youth rather than kill him, she didn't know whether to cry or be relieved. Her mother had hauled her away and roughly told her to forget about him, as of now she no longer had a brother. But it wasn't so easy.

Orcs weren't affectionate by nature, not once childhood was behind them. But Borgakh, thanks to Orc culture, had lost her brother young and hadn't thought she'd ever see him again. Now here he was, and it looked like he'd organised her freedom.

“Borkul, what have you done?” Borgakh whispered, rubbing at her cheek to get rid of the tears inconveniently rolling down her face. “Did you kill Yamarz? Arrange all this?”

Borkul nodded, looking extremely pleased with himself. “Yeah! Reach traders told me they were sending you to Largashbur so I wandered down there to, er, remonstrate with Yamarz. Original plan was to challenge him, take his tribe over and just wait for you to show up. But turned out Yamarz was having giant trouble due to pissing off Malacath. So I helped them out, accompanied Yamarz to help sort Malacath's shrine out, and Yamarz sadly didn't make it. Fetcher tried to pay me to do his work for him. Course I said no and killed him, then sorted the shrine out myself.”

“Yourself?” Kaie queried. “I seem to recall you taking a team of ReachGuard with you, losing three good fighters in the process. Last time I send you to kill giants.”

“What?” Borkul shrugged. “Deaths happen, I paid blood-price to the families, they died bravely, I got to return in triumph and we now have Largashbur's undying friendship. I got a personal thank you from Matriarch Keirine for putting her in touch with their wise woman.”

“Yeah, I suppose,” Kaie sighed. “Shame you didn't get made chief though.”

“You're not chief?” Borgakh said, surprised. “But you killed Yamarz.”

“Eh,” Borkul muttered. “I told their wise woman Atub that the shrine was clear and she petitioned Malacath to unhex them. And he went and declared one of their warriors chief instead. Which wasn't exactly what I had in mind, but I can hardly challenge someone Malacath literally just picked over me, can I? But we did get an alliance for the Reach, a sweet warhammer, and an interesting story to take back to Larak regarding Largashbur's real situation. He didn't know about the curse from Malacath and he's a mercenary bastard. He'd want to renegotiate the bride-price if he knew. So we went back and went for plan B, which was Kaie here making Larak a better offer than Largashbur.”

“Borkul, you idiot,” Borgakh whispered. “You'll be indebted to them for life!”

Borkul shrugged, scuffing the ground with his boot.

“Worth it,” he said quietly. “I'm not having that bastard just sell my little sister like she's a horse or something.”

Borgakh couldn't speak. She didn't know how things worked among the Reachmen regarding such things, but she'd seen the gold. It surely wasn't Borkul's own, and she knew the Reachmen regarded their goats highly. They'd paid a high price for her. And all at her brother's instigation.

“You idiot,” she whispered again, but she couldn't stop herself hugging him. He'd gone to all this trouble for her, still remembered after all these years. She really couldn't hold it against him.

Judging from the applauding Reachmen around her, it seemed they approved. Perhaps he wasn't quite as indebted as she'd thought. As Borkul let her go, she turned to face Kaie, who was smiling, tears in her eyes.

“He's been loyally serving my father for years, since they met in prison,” Kaie explained. “Da made all of those who escaped with him into his blood brothers, which means you can ask at least one big favour off him for nothing.”

“I didn't even ask him for all this, all I wanted was the chance to take over Largashbur,” Borkul admitted, arm still round Borgakh. “When I told him why, he started organising all this on his own. Maybe he's a dangerous and violent man... but he's a sentimental bastard too. Apparently his sole condition was that he got to meet you after. So, er, that's where you're going. Understone Keep, via the portal at Hag's End. Hope that's not a problem.”

“We can go overland if you'd prefer,” Kaie added. “But we're definitely visiting Hag's End tonight. Congratulations, you get to meet the Reach's chief wise woman!”

Matriarch Keirine's name had reached even the ears of Orc tribesfolk. Borgakh shuddered a little, but all the same, she was intrigued. And even if Borkul wasn't indebted, Borgakh's sense of honour insisted she pay the Reachmen back.

“Wait. Reach-Princess. You said you wanted an Orc bodyguard like your father.”

“That I did,” Kaie admitted. “And the job is yours if you want it – don't think I didn't notice the first thing you looked for was your weapons. If you're anything like your brother, you're clearly a skilled warrior. But don't think you're obliged to take it.”

“Oh I don't think so,” Borgakh said, stepping away from her brother to face Kaie full on. “You paid the bride-price for me, that means you got me. I serve at your command, Reach-Princess.” Borgakh saluted with a fist to her chest, lowering her head. 

“Borgakh, wait, you're not seriously-” Borkul began, only for Borgakh to glare at him.

“Borkul, shut up,” Borgakh snapped and Kaie actually laughed at the stunned look on Borkul's face at his little sister talking back to him.

“You're hired!” Kaie laughed, delighted. “As my bodyguard. Not my wife. I mean, not that you're not hot and all but I don't believe in paying people to marry me.”

“Good luck finding a husband any other way,” Borkul grunted, and Kaie's stony-faced glare could have killed a small animal. 

“Need me to hit him, Princess?” Borgakh offered, feeling oddly protective of her new employer, even if she did feel a little disappointed at not actually getting a spouse out of this. All the same, all was not lost. Kaie had said she was hot, a compliment presumably. Borgakh, looking Kaie over, could say the same. Perhaps, if she was lucky, more might be on the cards one day.

“No, don't bother, on this occasion I think I can be merciful,” Kaie said cheerfully. “He does it again, I think a word to my father would suffice. Da's sentimentality only goes so far.”

Borkul protested but Kaie just grinned and started ordering people to break camp, it was Hag's End for them. Leaving Borgakh watching and realising the Reachmen, despite having traded with Orcs for centuries, couldn't be more different.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cicero and Athis reach the safety of Hag's End, but when their information turns out to link Castle Volkihar with the recent vampire attacks, it's time for the Reach's authorities to swing into action. Meanwhile, it seems they might be about to get unexpected help as Jorrvaskr gets a visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Ugh, been a while since I've posted, but I had an editorial decision to make regarding future plot development and it needed thought. Also I have a sekrit side project in the works which may get posted when this is done. So here, just in time for Christmas, have some more chapters of Fearless Vampire Hunters!

Sunset at Hag's End and Athis seemed to perk up considerably as shadows lengthened and the sun disappeared behind the Druadachs. Of course, being Athis, this just meant he went from heartbroken and miserable to grimly determined. Cicero liked Athis, he truly did, but all the same he did sometimes wonder what Eola saw in him.

Not his place to judge, Cicero reminded himself. If Cicero could slip off now and then and crawl into the bed of some big, scary Nord or Orc to be utterly and completely used and dominated, Eola could cuddle up with a surly Dunmer. Cicero supposed.

They arrived at Deepwood Vale's entrance just in time to see a fight breaking out between ReachGuard warriors and some opponents who thought it was a good idea to assault Matriarch Keirine's stronghold. 

A Drain Life spell sucked the life out of one of the ReachGuard, and Cicero and Athis both simultaneously realised it wasn't just any opponent. It was vampires. Cicero raised his bow and took aim, at the same time as Athis called fire to one hand, had his sword in another and began blasting away at the lead vampire. 

With the reinforcements, the battle swung in the ReachGuards' favour, and Cicero was having a fine time. And then the fireball landed in from afar, slamming into Athis's opponent and incinerating him. Athis swiftly finished him off, and then battle was joined by two huge Orc warriors who wasted no time hammering the remaining vampires into submission. Then the smaller of the two warriors, a young woman from the look of it, took one look at Athis and raised her sword.

“Die, vampire!” the Orc cried, and Athis only just countered the blow in time. Then he was frantically fending her off while crying out to stop, he was a Companion, he'd been trying to help!

The assault didn't stop... at least until Cicero leapt out of nowhere with his daggers at the ready, preparing to stab the Orc... and then twin paralysis spells lashed out of the darkness and sent them both falling to the ground.

“Cicero!” Athis cried, catching Cicero as he fell to the ground, while the bigger Orc caught his friend.

“Don't try anything,” he snarled, and Athis, recognising Madanach's personal guard, nodded and did nothing. Oh dear gods, this was all he needed, the bloody Reach-King turning up in person. 

Fortunately for him, it wasn't the Reach-King striding forward, the ReachGuard falling back as the one who'd cast the paralysis spells approached. No, it was his heir, Kaie, who'd recently acquired a set of black and gold Forsworn gear and dyed her hair bright blue. Why, Athis had no idea but each to their own.

“Kaie, this isn't what it looks like,” Athis began, but Kaie's eyes widened as she saw his, and a Detect Life spell confirmed it.

“How the fuck long have you been a vampire?” Kaie said softly. “Does my sister know?”

“About a day and no,” Athis admitted, hoping she believed him. To his surprise, Kaie nodded and motioned for the guards to step back from him. Athis almost thought this was going to get resolved peacefully... and then the paralysis spells wore off. The female Orc got up, letting her kinsman help her, but alas Cicero wasn't so reasonable.

“YOU CANNOT KILL HIM!!” Cicero shrieked. “ HE DIDN'T DO ANYTHING! IT IS NOT HIS FAULT HE IS A VAMPIRE, HE WAS FIGHTING THEM! KAIE YOU CANNOT HURT HIM, YOU CANNOT YOU CANNOT!”

“I wasn't going to-!” Kaie protested, but Cicero was too frenzied to listen.

“ATHIS IS INNOCENT!” Cicero shrieked. “HE DIDN'T KILL ANY REACHGUARD! YOU CANNOT ARREST HIM, CICERO SHALL PROTEST TO THE REACH-KING, HE SHALL, HE SHALL!”

“Boss'll love that!” Borkul growled. His friend was staring at Cicero, clearly wondering just what had turned up. 

“I'm not arresting him!” Kaie cried, exasperated. “Sithis' sake, man, calm down!”

“You – you are not?” Cicero whispered. Kaie shook her head.

“No. But I do want to talk to him – to both of you. This is the fifth vampire attack in the Reach in as many months, Da and I are both getting sick of it. Athis, do you know who turned you? Did they have anything to do with this lot?”

“I don't know... maybe?” Athis hazarded, and then Cicero just had to open his mouth.

“There's a whole castle of them just off the coast of Skyrim!” Cicero chirped and Kaie's eyes went cold.

“Oh you had to tell her that,” Athis muttered, glaring at Cicero. Kaie just nodded to the two Orcs to move in a bit closer.

“Come with me,” Kaie snapped. “Right now. You need to have a little chat with me and Matriarch Keirine.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

There were many rumours about Matriarch Keirine. Twin sister of Madanach, this was true. Ruler of Deepwood Vale and Archwitch of Hag's End Magical Research Institute, this was also true. Rumoured to not be human any more... also true. Athis really wished he didn't know this firsthand, but alas he now knew the truth. Because he and Cicero had been hauled into Keirine's throne room, where the First Matriarch of the Reach was sitting, glamours off and her true identity as a Hagraven revealed. 

“So,” Keirine growled. “You're telling me that you found this vampire princess entombed in an old ruin, found out her family are based not even twenty miles from here, took her to them along with this Elder Scroll she had... and then you _turned down_ her father's offer to bring you into his court???”

“I wasn't signing up with a bunch of vampires!” Athis protested, although frankly seeing this clawed, fanged and feathered monstrosity in charge of an entire town wasn't a lot better.

“And yet here you are, turned into one anyway. Boy, did no one tell you that after fighting vampires, make sure you drink a potion??” Keirine sighed. Athis muttered something incoherent and Keirine just rolled her eyes.

“We're very sorry, Matriarch,” Cicero pleaded. “Cicero would have said yes, but he didn't know if Eola would approve. Also he quite likes being a werewolf, and Aela definitely would not have been pleased to see a vampire walk in who was once part of her pack.”

“She'll be ecstatic to see him then,” Keirine commented. “That's if he's going home. Is he going home?”

Athis looked away, really not sure he wanted to have this conversation with a Daedra-damned Hagraven, but Cicero had no such compunction.

“We were hoping he could claim sanctuary in the Reach,” Cicero said brightly. “You give vampires regular blood doses, don't you?”

“If they behave and don't attack our people, yes,” Keirine sighed. “I should warn you that due to the recent attacks, the ReachGuard are not nearly as tolerant as they once were. You'll need to sign the register. And provide a blood sample so we can track your location.”

“What??” Athis yelled. Cicero had not mentioned _that_.

“We're being attacked by vampires, and you think we want to let the Reach's vampire residents just wander around at will??” Keirine hissed. “You register, you give a blood sample, you get to live peacefully here and we'll give you a weekly blood potion. You have a problem with that, try your luck with the Nords, see how far you get.”

“Brother,” Cicero whispered. “Brother, do it, you will need to feed at some point, you will do a lot better living here than anywhere else.”

Athis didn't like this at all, but if vampires really had been attacking, he did see the point. At least they weren't arresting vampires on sight. It was something. So Athis signed the register and let Keirine take some of his blood, and when it was done, Keirine tossed him a potion and told him to report in next week for another.

“I recommend you don't hoard them,” Keirine advised. “I also recommend you tell Eola sooner rather than later before her father sees your name in the register and does it for you. You know what he's like.”

“Cicero's heading back there in the morning,” Athis said, patting Cicero on the back. “He's going to bring Eola here.”

“Not right away you're not,” Keirine said grimly. “I have a castle of potentially hostile vampires on my doorstep and it turns out they have an Elder Scroll. I don't have any evidence they're behind the attacks, but it wouldn't surprise me if they were. But in order to attack them, I need proof, and for that, I need spies. Seeing as you two lamentably failed to infiltrate their organisation, I'm going to have to bring in outside help, which means you, Cicero, are going to Sky Haven Temple. Tell Delphine everything and get her on the case. She thinks she's a top spymistress? Let her prove it. Tell her to get eyes on that castle.”

“Yes, Matriarch,” Cicero whispered, and Athis wondered why on earth taking orders from an inhuman monster came so easily to him.

“Did you want me to get the ReachGuard on alert, Auntie?” Kaie asked and Keirine nodded.

“Yes. Tell your father, but try and dissuade him from actually invading. We need information on what we're dealing with first. But I could use extra troops and having the ReachGuard ready to march would be an enormous help. Also get Elisif on side. This is going on in her Hold, she should be dealing with it. But likely won't.”

“She can't act without evidence either,” Kaie reminded her aunt. “She can't just level an entire castle on a whim. Even if they are vampires.”

Keirine growled but did not argue.

“Nevertheless, she should know,” Keirine said, shrugging. “I have a feeling we may need her if these vampires are behind the attacks.”

“That we could,” Kaie agreed. “We could use Odahviing as well.”

“We could use him for many things!” Keirine laughed. “But it is probably for the best we're not allowed. Go on, all three of you, go. Rest here tonight. But tomorrow... tomorrow we've got a potential war to plan for.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Cicero had been a bit sad to leave Athis behind. The Dunmer had seemed so lonely and miserable, even with an assured future in the Reach, that Cicero had feared to leave him alone. But he'd agreed to wait to hear from Eola before making any firm decisions, and so Cicero had left him sitting by the Azura shrine in the little Chapel of the Reclamations at Deepwood Vale, hoping he'd be all right.

But then Cicero had got out onto the open road, at which point he'd carefully stripped, packed everything into his bag, glanced around to make sure no one was watching (should probably have done that before stripping, but Cicero wasn't shy about his body and they shouldn't be staring, should they), took his pack in his mouth and transformed.

Seconds later a red werewolf was bounding across the valley, heading for Sky Haven Temple. There was a bit of a consternation in Karthwasten as he bounded through, but no one actually died and Cicero kept on running all the way to Karthspire. 

Thank Sithis for Reach law being fairly lenient on werewolves that weren't actually eating anyone, because Cicero didn't have 1000 septims on him, and if he'd transformed back in the middle of a Nord community, there'd have been trouble. Fortunately Reachfolk were made of sterner stuff and just bountied him for public nudity. Apparently they had some standards.

Once dressed, and forty septims worse off, Cicero scampered into Sky Haven Temple itself, past the traps and finally into Cyrodiil Court, where a bell-pull announced to the Blades that they had a guest.

The badly-scarred young woman who answered might have frightened some... but not Cicero.

“Pretty Zora! Lovely Zora! Hello!” Cicero cooed up at the woman once known as the Diamond of Riverwood.

“Cicero! My hero!” Zora gasped. They'd first met when Cicero had saved her from a necromancer in Brittleshin Pass – he'd actually been after a Totem of Hircine, but the pretty woman with the scarred face had intrigued him sufficiently to not kill. He'd have invited her to Jorrvaskr, but alas Eola couldn't stand her. So Sky Haven Temple it had been instead, and Zora was doing well as a mighty dragonslayer, even if she had been a bit surprised to find the former innkeeper of her home village running the show. “Sky Haven Temple is honoured to see such a fine personage grace us with his presence. To what do we owe the honour?”

“Bad things!” Cicero chirped, before belatedly realising he could perhaps be a bit less pleased about this news. “Er... there is trouble, Zora, much trouble! Vampires are attacking _everywhere!_ And now Cicero thinks he's found their headquarters. But we don't know for sure it's them. So Matriarch Keirine needs spies. Cicero was hoping Delphine could help!”

“Aie, vampires!” Zora gasped. “You had better come in. Delphine's been looking into the problem. You know where they live? She'll definitely be interested!”

Zora disappeared into the Temple and seconds later the door swung open, and Cicero sprinted in.

Inside he found the main banqueting table covered with a map of Skyrim and the Reach, and flags marking sites of vampire attacks all over it. There weren't many settlements that didn't have at least one.

“Look at this, there's no pattern to any of it!” Delphine sighed. “Attacks in Riften, Falkreath, three in Whiterun, four in Solitude, two in Riverwood, and one in Windhelm too. They're targeting settlements indiscriminately. Brynjolf, are you sure no one's got anything on them.”

“Positive, lass,” Brynjolf sighed. “No one knows where they're coming from. Or what they want. Or even if they're from the same coven. All we know is that they're chipping away at resistance. Honestly, they're killing more people than the dragons.”

“It's true,” Ralof added. “We've made a point out of clearing out known vampire lairs, but no effect. Whoever they are, they're well organised and unlike anything we've ever dealt with before.”

Brynjolf and Ralof, former second-in-command of the Thieves Guild and former captain in Ulfric's army, once men with nothing in common, now united by mutual hatred of the Thalmor, serving as leading lights in the Blades. Brynjolf handled information. Ralof headed up the dragonslaying efforts. Together they served Queen and country, working tirelessly to find out things Elisif could do with knowing, keeping dragons under control and working to undermine Thalmor efforts. But despite all the resources they had at their disposal, it was clear they knew nothing about vampires either.

Which meant humble Cicero knew more than sweet Delphine did. How delightful!

“DELPHINE!” Cicero squealed, bouncing across the room and draping himself over the table, grinning up at older but still quite attractive Delphine, taking care not to ruin her map, because that would never do, would it? Cicero had long ago learnt firsthand of the perils of ruining Delphine's war table.

“Cicero,” Delphine greeted him, smiling despite herself even as Ralof muttered “oh Talos” and Brynjolf just muttered something that sounded like it rhymed with 'ox sake'. “What brings you here? News from Jorrvaskr?”

“Yes!” Cicero gasped. “Well. No. Sort of. Delphine, Cicero thinks he knows where the vampires are coming from!” 

That did get her attention.

“Really?” She turned to Brynjolf, grinning at him. “See, Bryn, he's not completely useless, is he? Well, Cicero, out with it. Tell me what you know and how you found out.”

So Cicero did, leaving out Athis's transformation, but otherwise telling Delphine everything, with Brynjolf, Ralof and Zora all listening intently, and just as Keirine had done, Delphine actually growled with exasperation to hear it.

“You didn't take his offer up?” Delphine cried. Cicero blinked to hear this. He knew Delphine didn't operate on the right side of the law, but even so, he knew she did have morals. How vampirism fitted into this, he really didn't know.

“Cicero didn't want to be a vampire,” Cicero protested. “Cicero quite likes... Cicero doesn't want to have to creep into people's bedrooms and drink their blood!”

“You'd rather keep it as a hobby, would you?” Ralof inquired and didn't even flinch at the frosty glare Cicero gave him.

“Now, now, Ralof, leave Cicero's bedroom activities out of this,” Brynjolf drawled. “The lad's got some sense – not sure I'd want to be a vampire either.”

“True, but even so it would have been a perfect opportunity to infiltrate them,” Delphine sighed. “Never mind. We know they're there, at least. And that they really wanted this Elder Scroll. I wonder what their plans are. Or what they want with the Scroll, last I heard you can't even read Elder Scrolls without going blind. Hmm... All right, Ralof. Round up the troops and go for Northwatch Keep. Raze the place to the ground, kill everyone, apart from the prisoners, they can come here. Make it look like vampires did it if you can. Once the Thalmor are cleared out, we can have a few people camped nearby, watching. Brynjolf, we're going to need all the information we can find on Elder Scrolls. Didn't we have a Moth Priest visit Skyrim a few weeks back? See if you can find out where he's gone. We could do with him on tap – that, and if they've got an Elder Scroll, the vampires will likely want to read it, which means they might be looking for him too.”

“On it, Del,” Brynjolf announced, heading off to start composing letters for his contacts. Ralof likewise excused himself to start calling in the Blades' military expertise for an assault on Northwatch Keep. Given that many of the survivors of Ulfric's army had joined Delphine's cause, this was a considerable number of people. 

Which left Cicero alone with Delphine.

“So if pretty Delphine needs nothing else, Cicero shall be on his merry way – eep!” Delphine had grabbed his arm to stop him disappearing.

“Not yet. I need you to share what you know with my loremasters. I know vampires and Elder Scrolls aren't really Esbern's area of expertise but he might know something. And then there's his... friend.”

Delphine gritted her teeth as she mentioned the Blades' most controversial source. It had been a matter of considerable argument between Delphine and the Dragonborn even letting him live at all, and then there'd been an even bigger argument when said Dragonborn had suggested Esbern might want to talk to him and find out more about dragons. The argument had gone on for months up until the Dragonborn's husband had turned up with half the ReachGuard at his back and cheerfully reminded Delphine that he was letting them remain here at considerable personal risk should the Thalmor find them, and perhaps they could repay his generosity by letting his wife have her way? And so Delphine had reluctantly agreed, and Paarthurnax had come to visit the Blades.

Relations had been frosty at first, but Esbern and Paarthurnax had this in common – both were obsessed with things draconic, and in the end, they somehow forgot they were Dovah and joor, and Paarthurnax now visited on a regular basis to talk with Esbern regarding dragon history and the Thu'um, and the Blades library was gaining some fascinating new additions.

Delphine could wish none of this had ever happened, but alas, she was stuck with it now on pain of Esbern being upset and Madanach being even more upset and slaughtering them all.

Cicero on the other hand loved having a dragon to talk to.

“PAARTHURNAX!” Cicero squealed as he raced out into the sunlight, where Esbern was sitting back in a chair talking to the old dragon perched on the pavilion roof. “Paarthurnax, Paarthurnax, it is Cicero! Hello!”

“Hello Cicero,” Paarthurnax said, no little amusement in his voice. “How goes your own practice of the Voice?”

Cicero's face fell at this question. “Not well,” Cicero admitted. “Cicero still cannot breathe fire. Paarthurnax, why can't Cicero breathe fire! Can't you just teach me like you did the pretty Dragonborn?”

“Cicero,” Paarthurnax sighed. “You are not Dovahkiin. The gods did not choose you. All I can do is try and teach as best I can. You are meditating, yes? You are contemplating the meaning of fire?”

“Ye-e-ess!” Cicero whined. “Cicero stares into every fire he sees, Cicero even talked with Matriarch Keirine about how Destruction magic actually worked, and he didn't fully understand all of it, but it was mostly about reaching through the Veil into realms of fire and bringing some through. So if Cicero can bring it into the world with his hands, _why can't he breathe fire??_ ”

Cicero pouted up at the dragon as if Paarthurnax was personally responsible for Cicero not being Dragonborn. Paarthurnax even looked sympathetic, but honestly, there wasn't a lot he could do.

“Cicero,” Paarthurnax said calmly. “I cannot magically gift you with the Thu'um, but I will offer this. The Thu'um is not the summoning of fire from the Beyond. The Thu'um is the creation of fire, the bringing into existence of something that was not there before. Cicero, you are too bound up in what fire can destroy. Stop focusing on Destruction and instead think on Creation.”

Cicero genuinely hadn't thought about it that way before. All his meditations had been on fire burning, destroying, laying waste to all before him. He'd never really thought of the act of kindling fire before, of bringing it into being for the sheer joy of creation. Maybe this was where he'd been going wrong.

“Cicero shall definitely try that, thank you Paarthurnax!” Cicero chorused. “Oh but Paarthurnax, dear Paarthurnax, do you know anything about vampires? Or Elder Scrolls? Wasn't it you who sent our dear Dovahkiin after one?”

“Yes,” Paarthurnax said, exchanging glances with Esbern. “But I can hardly claim to be an expert on the Kelle. The Dov ride the winds of time but the Scrolls tell the winds where to blow. Some things are beyond even us, Cicero.”

“But she was able to read one!” Cicero cried. “Without going blind! She saw Dragonrend in it! How did she do it, how, how??”

“Cicero,” Paarthurnax sighed. “I don't know. Nothing is certain with such things. That she managed it at all is down to reading it at the Time Wound. Read a Scroll in the right place and time, and many things might be revealed. But only if the Kel allows it. That is your answer, Cicero – the Kel did not wish to be eaten along with the world and revealed its knowledge to the Dovahkiin. Maybe also her dragon blood saved her. Who can tell. And of vampires...” here Paarthurnax actually shuddered in disgust. “Pitiful creatures. Aping the immortality of the Dov, but it is not true immortality to die and preserve one's form, feeding off others to live. Let them keep the night. They do not truly know the glory of the wind and the sky and the sun.”

“So you don't know anything about them attacking towns or why they might want an Elder Scroll then?” Delphine put in, having decided enough was enough.

Esbern and Paarthurnax exchanged looks, surprised at this news.

“They have an Elder Scroll?” Esbern mused. “Well then, there must be some prophecy or other, some prophecy about vampires. I'll need to look into it. I'm sure the library must have something, let me go and find out...”

Esbern was already wandering off to scour the library for prophecies and Paarthurnax just shrugged.

“I can tell you nothing further, Cicero. Vampires are not something the Dov have ever really concerned themselves with. I know nothing of what they might be planning now. Likely you and your Akaviri friends are better informed than I.”

Cicero doubted very much he was better informed than Paarthurnax on anything, unless it was looking inconspicuous and stabbing the deserving, but he thanked the old Dovah anyway. Looked like his best option now was just returning to Jorrvaskr and talking to Eola. She needed to know her boyfriend was now a blood-drinking creature of the night. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Jorrvaskr was strangely quiet as Cicero skipped inside. True, Torvar was a lot quieter now he was sober, and Vignar was off in his own room, no doubt still nursing a grudge against the High Queen for daring to win the war, and Vilkas and Ria weren't back yet... but all the same, too quiet. A couple of the younglings were staring at him and whispering to each other, which was also a bit of a worry. Usually they'd call to him or raise a mug. Not today.

And then Aela turned up, arms folded and staring him down and Cicero realised he was in trouble.

“There you are,” Aela said, disapproving. “You took your time! Where's Athis.”

“Hag's End,” Cicero admitted. “He lives! He is well... but Cicero needs to speak to Eola. Where is she?”

“Downstairs,” Aela said, turning and leading him away. “Entertaining Jorrvaskr's latest guest. Who has been asking for you and Athis and won't say anything until one of you shows up.” 

Cicero scratched his head, wondering who on earth would visit Jorrvaskr asking for him, that Aela didn't already know. Not many people, if Cicero was honest. And if you added in people who knew Athis as well, that narrowed it down even further. So he followed Aela downstairs to where Eola was standing outside the Harbinger's room, interrogating the new arrival.

“Look, I'm a Reachwoman,” Eola sighed. “I'm down with mages, and I'm even down with vampires. And if one wants to sign up with the Companions, I'm not going to turn away someone with honourable intentions. But sweetie, I can't reasonably let you in if you won't tell me what your intentions are!! Or what the deal with the Scroll is.”

“Look, I've come a long way,” Serana sighed, and Cicero's heart skipped a beat as he realised the vampire princess had fled her home already. He'd only dropped her off two days ago! Was she alright? Had something gone wrong? 

“I only just met you, and I don't exactly know who I can trust yet,” Serana continued. “But I know Cicero and I know Athis, and I know they kept their word and helped me when they didn't have to. They said they were from here. Was I wrong?”

“No, but they're not here,” Eola said, hands on her hips as she stared Serana down. Eola wasn't exactly tall, but she had ways of getting round that. She'd got round it this time by sitting Serana in one of the chairs while she loomed over her to the best of her ability. “And seeing as I'm Jorrvaskr's Harbinger, I'm entitled to know what your business is here. Particularly as my husband's involved.”

Serana did start up at that, blinking in surprise. 

“Oh, you're married to Athis?” Serana said, and Cicero felt a little bit offended by that. Why did no one ever think he was husband material? 

“No, not exactly. I'm married to-” Eola stopped as she heard Aela approach, and when she saw Cicero, her eyes lit up.

“And there he is,” Eola purred. “Sweet Cicero himself. Come on, husband, get over here, tell me what you've been up to, and just how did you manage to meet a cute vampire lady, hmm?”

Cicero could feel his cheeks burning and Serana's rather grateful smile wasn't helping.

“It is not like that, pretty Eola,” Cicero giggled nervously. “Nothing untoward happened, nothing at all!”

“Except when you ended up unexpectedly naked,” Serana added, completely unnecessarily in Cicero's opinion. “But you did save me from a troll, so...”

Cicero was definitely blushing now, no doubt about it, he could tell, and Eola was clearly trying not to laugh. Aela was barely even trying.

“Let me guess, beast form?” Eola laughed. “Yeah, that happens a lot. I'd say half the Reach has seen his cock by now. So. Mind telling me how you met? I'm really very curious.”

“Dimhollow Crypt,” Serana replied, apparently feeling a little more trusting now that Cicero was here. “I was... imprisoned there, for a very long time, it turns out.”

“With an Elder Scroll,” Aela noted. “Not seen one of those in a while. Not since the Dragonborn found hers. Where'd you find it?”

“It was my father's,” Serana said, voice softening as she looked at the floor. “There was this prophecy... look, Cicero, you met him. You know he's not a good man, even by vampire standards.”

Cicero nodded, dropping to the floor next to Serana, legs crossed as he gazed sympathetically up at her. If Eola knew how to intimidate, Cicero knew well how to cajole and persuade. Especially where women were concerned.

“He is a very bad man, my sweetling, very bad indeed!” Cicero whispered. “He has a whole castle full of vampires and thinks of mortals as prey!”

“He's not entirely wrong,” Eola purred. “But he's very wrong indeed when it comes to us. So you met him? When?”

“I wanted to go home, find out what had happened, see if my mother was all right,” Serana told her, face hardening. “But she wasn't there. Turns out she disappeared the same time as I did. Taking my father's other Elder Scroll with her.”

“Other Elder Scroll??” Aela interrupted. “How many did he have and why would a vampire need Elder Scrolls??”

“It takes decades of meditation to even begin to learn how to read one,” Eola mused. “But he's a vampire, he has the time. The question is, why. Elder Scrolls are tricky and unpredictable, and you need to be a scholar to truly appreciate them.”

“He's no scholar, but he is obsessed,” Serana sighed. “He's a vampire and he celebrated that he'd conquered death, but hated that it left him vulnerable to the sun. He'd always complain about it... and then he found out about this prophecy.”

“What prophecy?” Eola probed, sensing this was getting closer to the heart of the matter. She settled into the chair opposite Serana, genuinely curious about this vampire. Child of powerful and ambitious nobles, parents clearly at war... Eola sympathised. Her father wasn't exactly a good man, but he did at least care about her. Her mother on the other hand... Eola preferred not to remember the vicious old cow her mother had been.

“The Tyranny of the Sun,” Serana whispered. “A prophecy about some way to free vampires from it, to blot out the Sun and plunge the world into eternal darkness. He's been looking for it ever since. Obsessed with it. He was never exactly a good person beforehand but he was still my father. But since he found it, he just... changed. It took him over. He'd spend every waking moment hunting for more information about it. It was kinda sick, actually.”

Eola ruffled Cicero's hair, as much to comfort herself as him. Didn't she know what that was like, to lose her parents to a cause. Cidhna Mine took her father, and her mother had been lost to her own ambitions years before she was even born. Now here was another woman also mourning a lost family life.

Cicero clearly seemed to feel similarly, because he'd leaned forward and taken Serana's hand.

“But that is sad!” he whispered. “Eola, that is sad, very sad! It must be sad, because Cicero only took Serana home two days ago, and she has run away already to get help from someone she barely knows! Her papa is clearly a bad man!”

“Yes, yes, he probably is, and of course she can stay here,” Eola soothed. “Not surprising she ran away.”

It was Aela who finally decided enough was enough.

“Excuse me, did we miss the part where this man's building a vampire army, has already massacred the Vigil of Stendarr at their Hall and is planning to blot out the Sun??” Aela snapped. “Eola, we can't just let him get away with this!”

“I wasn't planning to!” Eola sighed. “I know the Sun's important – magic relies on it, magic that isn't blood magic anyway, and all the plants will die without it too.”

“But you barely eat plants, you always leave or pick out the vegetables, you only chew on snowberries every so often to avoid getting scurvy...” Cicero said, scratching his head and trying to remember when he'd last seen Eola eating anything green. Other than the odd Orc bandit, anyway.

“Animals eat plants!” Eola snapped. “The animals all die, people all die, what do we do then, hmm? So yeah, we stop him! Serana, how far has he got? I presume he was looking for Elder Scrolls to find out if they had the complete prophecy.”

“He knew the prophecy was written in an Elder Scroll; he just didn't know which one,” Serana said, fingering her Scroll. “So he collected all the ones he could find, hoping he could eventually work out how to read them. My mother and I... we were trying to talk him out of it, but he just wouldn't listen. I think he even stopped seeing us as family eventually. We were just things in the end. So my mother and I – well, my mother really, came up with a plan to stop him. It was her who sealed me away with the Scroll, so he couldn't get his hands on it. She took the other one and went into hiding.”

“Wait, your _mother_ shut you away?” Eola interrupted, and Cicero actually cried out.

“But that is not right!” Cicero cried. “Mamas should not shut their children away... in the darkness... all alone... abandoned! They should not, _they should not!_ ”

Cicero had started rocking, eyes staring wildly into the distance and Serana gasped, shrinking back as the little jester looked to be heading for a complete nervous breakdown.

“Sweetie,” Eola whispered, dropping to Cicero's side as she put her arms round him. “Sweetie, stop, this isn't gonna help.”

“They should not!” Cicero sobbed, clinging on to Eola as he stared up at Serana with tears in his eyes. “They should not!”

“Is he all right?” Serana said, feeling a bit guilty for setting him off. She'd guessed Cicero was a little... touched in the head, but he'd seemed upbeat and stable most of the time. Now here he was staring at her, something in her story clearly getting to him. Yes, of course it had been a long time, and no she'd not liked it, but she was the quiet type by nature and she'd slept through most of it anyway. It had been for the best, to keep the Scroll away from her father while her mother dealt with everything. Hadn't it. Hadn't it?

Looking at Cicero, seemingly distraught at the mere idea of a mother doing that to her child, Serana was no longer so sure. 

“He'll be fine,” Eola said, dragging Cicero to his feet and cajoling him to come with her for a bit of quiet time. “He just has a history with mothers leaving him, that's all. He's... he doesn't do well on his own. Come on, Cicero, come with me. We'll have a cuddle and a talk, yes?”

Cicero nodded tearfully, before breaking away from Eola and running over to Serana, all ready to hug her... and then he stopped, before gently placing a hand on her shoulder.

“If Serana ever wishes to talk, Cicero will listen,” Cicero said quietly. “Serana is Cicero's friend. Of course Cicero shall help.”

“Thank you, Cicero. I appreciate it,” Serana told him, definitely feeling touched by his kindness, and impressed that he did actually restrain himself from cuddling her. It was almost like he knew she didn't like being touched. Cicero nodded, before running back to Eola to cuddle her, but he was still peeping out at Serana. Eola patted Cicero's back before smiling at Serana.

“Don't worry, you're welcome to stay as long as you like,” Eola told her. “The quarters are down the hall, grab a bed and fall in it when you're tired. Or not. That's OK too. Only, er, don't feed on anyone here. Not a good idea.”

“That's all right, I fed before I left the castle,” Serana said without thinking. “My father keeps a stable of thralls, I thought I might as well take advantage – what?”

“Thralls?” Aela said quietly, dangerously. “Human thralls? A _stable?_ ”

“Ye-es,” Serana admitted. “Look, he's got a whole castle full of vampires to keep happy, he has to feed them somehow!”

Aela turned to Eola, appalled. “Eola, we have got to do something about this man!”

“We will, we will,” Eola promised. “Only give me time to think about this – Serana only just got here, I need to settle Cicero, and this is her father we're talking about!”

“He's a monster, Eola,” Aela said firmly. “He enslaves humans for food and wants to put out the sun.”

Eola glanced over at Serana, who wasn't looking too pleased at hearing her father described this way but couldn't exactly deny the truth of this either. Eola rather knew how she felt – hers wasn't exactly universally beloved. However, for all his faults, Madanach did not have a stable of human thralls anywhere to feed off, nor was he planning to extinguish the sun. He didn't consume human flesh on a regular basis either.

“We'll stop him, I promise,” Eola sighed. “Just... let me think all this over, OK? This is going to take some planning and I don't think the Companions can do it alone.”

Aela glared but did at length nod and take her leave. Serana lingered before heading out herself.

“Thank you,” Serana said quietly. “I didn't expect anyone to care how I felt about all this. I just... thank you.”

“Don't thank me yet,” Eola told her. “Thank me when it's all over. In the mean time, get some rest. I think we're all going to need it.”

Weren't they all. As Serana took her leave, Cicero waving goodbye, Eola brooded on all she'd heard. Vampires trying to take over the world. Not good. Nothing personal against vampires, of course, but if Molag Bal's children took over the world, that would lead to a fight back, and worshippers of any Daedra would get caught up in the fighting. The increased scavenging opportunities were not worth the inevitable rise in orders of holy warriors dedicated to turning back the forces of darkness. The Vigil had been bad enough. The last thing Eola needed was competent and highly trained orders of holy warriors who actually were taken seriously and received funding from the governments of the day.

No, best for everyone that this be nipped in the bud as soon as they could. Only Eola had a feeling Serana wasn't going to get a happy ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zora Fair-Child isn't mine, she's from the Interesting NPCs mod.
> 
> The nice thing about the Dragonborn in this universe is that she's genuinely got sufficient clout to force Delphine and Paarthurnax to come to terms, not to mention the husband with his soldiers camped outside Sky Haven Temple. So that's what I've done!
> 
> Oh Serana. Dear Serana. She has escaped her own messed-up family and sought aid from the two people in Skyrim with plenty of messed-up family troubles of their own - Eola whose father missed her entire childhood near enough due to prison, and whose mother would totally have sacrificed thousands to Molag Bal for power if she could, and then there's Cicero, Mr Mother Issues himself. Ah well, at least she now has friends who can commiserate with her.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With vampires in possession of an Elder Scroll, their logical next move would be to locate someone who can read them... and, Delphine being nothing if not logical, the Blades are moving in to find him first. Meanwhile Serana is settling in at Jorrvaskr and getting used to being out in the world again, and Eola has a few questions.

“I swear, Brynjolf, I must have spoken to every villager in this sodding town,” Sapphire snapped. “No one has seen anything, no one even knows what a Moth Priest looks like, I've been snubbed by the Oculatus, barked at by the dog, accused by Faida of eyeing up her Gaius, had that Skjarn fuckwit in the inn try to impress me with his vocal talents, and no one, _no one,_ has seen a Moth Priest!” She had her hands on her hips, staring down Brynjolf in the shadow of the Dragon Bridge itself, the sun setting behind her, and all in all it was fair to say Sapphire was not impressed.

“Ah, don't be like that, lass,” Brynjolf said, smiling. “That lead I had was solid, I'm telling you. Sorex wouldn't lie to me. The lad knows his rumours. A Moth Priest came through Haafingar days ago, on the way to Winterhold. We need to track him down and persuade him to come to the Reach for his own safety. Someone here saw something, I'm telling you.”

“Well, who? I've asked literally everyone, Bryn,” Sapphire sighed.

“Everyone?” Brynjolf asked. “What about the guard?”

“The guard.” Sapphire was staring at him as if he'd completely lost his mind. “Are you serious. Me. Talk to the guard. Do you honestly think I want them seeing and remembering my face? You think if something goes wrong on a heist at some point and a Haafingar guard sees me, that I want them thinking 'I know her, she was asking after that Moth Priest!' Seriously, Bryn, think about it!”

“All right then. What about him?” Brynjolf pointed out the young boy playing with his dog, and he was the sole villager Sapphire hadn't approached.

“But he's just a kid,” Sapphire began, only to feel her heart sink as she saw Brynjolf smile.

“Aye. But kids have eyes and they see more than most adults ever give them credit for. Here, let me ask. I know what you're like with kids.” This was true enough. There were people who doted on kids, people with natural parenting skills, people who were indifferent and the avowed childfree... and then there was Sapphire. Sapphire, with the maternal instincts of a rock. Sapphire, who could be guaranteed to run screaming in the other direction at the mere sign of children. Of course she'd not talked to the kid.

But Brynjolf could talk to anyone he felt like and charm them into liking him, and it wasn't long before he was coming back with a smile on his face.

“Got him. Came through here earlier this morning, crossed the bridge, heading for Winterhold via Morthal. If we hurry, we can catch him.”

“If,” Sapphire muttered. But she had to agree a cart wasn't much faster than travelling on foot, especially not in Skyrim's rough terrain. So she followed Brynjolf over the Dragon Bridge, preparing for a long journey.

What they got was an upended cart, bodies everywhere, including Imperial guards and one crumbling vampire, a trail of blood leading south-east towards the hills, a discarded book on Elder Scrolls... and no Moth Priest.

“Well, shit,” was all Brynjolf said, running hand through his hair. “Looks like they got to him first.”

Sapphire swore under her breath, but she'd not got to where she was today by being willing to give up. The head of Thieves Guild operations in Solitude wasn't going to just let her prey get away from her. So Sapphire started going through the vampire's pockets and sure enough, there was a conveniently-placed note in there advising her to bring the Moth Priest to Forebear's Holdout for interrogation.

“See, Del would have our hides if we were stupid enough to go on dangerous jobs with the orders just sitting in our pockets,” Brynjolf smirked. “Half the time she sends messengers anyway with verbal orders, or she codes them. Whereas this isn't – it's clearly referring to Forebear's Holdout which is a cave just over that ridge.”

“Which is where that blood trail seems to lead, and looking at these corpses, this attack only happened a few hours ago,” Sapphire realised. “He might still be in one piece! Or, you know, still able to read an Elder Scroll anyway.”

“You're all heart, Sapphire,” Brynjolf sighed, rolling his eyes. “Come on, let's go rescue a Moth Priest.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

They finally found him trapped in some sort of force field, deep inside the cavern in the ruins of a small fort. Just who would build a fort inside a cave was beyond Sapphire, but they had, and the vampires guarding this Moth Priest were using it. Or at least they were until two Nightingales slipped into the cave.

Sapphire was a former Dark Brotherhood assassin turned thief who'd been killing since she was fourteen. Brynjolf was a career thief turned spymaster who was also no stranger to violence. Between them, sneaking in and tearing down opposition before anyone realised they were there was child's play. Sapphire's arrows took down the Death Hounds on watch. Then quietly to the main fort and Brynjolf's Nightingale powers set vampire fighting vampire long enough for them to slip past and reach the top of the tower to launch a stealth attack on the vampires there.

Of course, once that had happened, all hell promptly broke loose, but it wasn't like either thief was ill-equipped. Dagger in one hand, sword in the other (Chillrend and the Nightingale Blade respectively), Brynjolf and Sapphire entered the fray, laying waste to all before them, and it was Sapphire's Nightingale power that ripped the life from the lead vampire.

And then it was quiet. No sound but the buzzing of the force field.

“How do you think we get it down?” Sapphire whispered, hoping Brynjolf had some ideas because her knowledge of the arcane was close to nil, unless you wanted some magical artefact fenced, and even then she'd probably have to send the description to Eola for a second opinion.

“Dunno,” Brynjolf shrugged as he turned out the lead vampire's pockets and uncovered a strange glowing stone of the same colour as the force field. “But I think this has something to do with it – is there any sort of slot it could go in?”

Turned out there was one on the balcony overlooking the whole arcane trap arrangement and as the stone slotted into the slot, the force field came down, revealing one man in his later years, beard down to his chest and hair gone on top, grey robes and a sword looking a little like Delphine's katana... which he promptly drew and turned on Brynjolf with.

“My master is gone... you have killed him!” the priest intoned, and Brynjolf only just held him off.

“Your master – no, he was keeping you prisoner!” Brynjolf shouted, Chillrend flashing in the shadows as he kept his opponent at bay with effort. The old man was stronger than he looked, clearly. “We're trying to rescue you!”

Sapphire reached for her bow, an ebony one she'd 'borrowed' from the High Queen's armoury. Not like Elisif ever did much archery, was it now?

“Hold on, Bryn!” Sapphire cried, taking aim. She supposed she'd better go for somewhere non-lethal, seeing as Delphine apparently wanted this guy alive. One arrow in the thigh later and the man was sprawled out on the floor, begging for mercy as sanity came flooding back.

“Wait!” he cried, raising a hand to try and block Brynjolf. “Wait, that wasn't me you were fighting! I'm sorry! It was that vampire, it... did something to me!”

Brynjolf sheathed his sword and knelt down next to him, snapping at Sapphire to bring the medical supplies over, seeing as she was the one who shot him.

“Misunderstandings happen,” was all Brynjolf said to the prone Moth Priest, taking his cowl off so as to get a better look at the man, memories of Mercer forcing him to fight Karliah still haunting him. “Not your fault. How are you feeling?”

“I... I seem to be losing rather a lot of blood,” the priest whispered, and Sapphire didn't help by yanking the arrow out. It was Brynjolf who cursed and ended up holding the wound together, using what little Restoration magic he did know to seal it up. It'd hold until he got to a proper healer. Probably. All the same, he still applied a poultice and offered the poor man a couple of potions.

“Thank you,” the priest finally whispered. “Dexion Evicus at your service. I don't know what those fiends wanted, but I think you saved my life.”

“No worries,” Sapphire shrugged. “So. You a Moth Priest then or what? Hope so, that's what I'm being paid to track down.”

“I – yes, I'm a Moth Priest,” Dexion said, confused. “I just got here from Cyrodiil a few weeks ago – after that Elder Scroll turned up a few years ago in Alftand, I thought I'd come looking to see if Skyrim has any more. I must say, I haven't had a lot of luck so far. So many ancient ruins, and not the faintest idea where to start – I don't suppose you've come across any in your travels?”

“Sadly no,” Brynjolf admitted, fairly certain he wouldn't really know where to start with pricing an Elder Scroll. “Not personally. But I have heard a rumour that a clan of vampires has acquired one, and that they're desperate to know the contents. We're trying to stop them, or at least find out what they want. That they took you prisoner would seem to indicate this particular rumour has some basis in reality.”

“Evidently,” Dexion whispered, glancing around the cave at all the vampiric bodies. “Well, young man, my guards appear to be dead, I don't fancy my chances travelling Skyrim on my own, and if these vampires send more people after me, I might not be so lucky next time. I don't know what your organisation does but if you're working against these bloodsuckers, count me in. I'll happily help.”

“You're awfully trusting,” Sapphire commented, raising an eyebrow. “How do you know this isn't an elaborate double-bluff and we're in league with them?”

Dexion grinned and laughed, seemingly unbothered. “I don't, of course. You might be brigands of the highest order for all I know. But you fought and killed them all, risking your lives against powerful vampires. They already had me enthralled and helpless, there was no need for you to intervene at all if you were allied. Whoever you are, you can hardly be worse.”

“We're not going to enthral you and drink your blood,” Brynjolf promised. “And Sapphire's not going to shoot you again, are you Sapphire?”

“Not if he doesn't wave his sword at us again,” Sapphire replied, pointedly picking it up and handing it over. “Here. Keep it sheathed unless bad guys turn up.”

“I will do that very thing,” Dexion promised. “Now, do you have a base we can go to? I'd feel so much safer with strong walls and lots of men and women with swords in between me and the nearest vampire.”

“Don't know about walls, but there's a Reachfolk outpost not far from here,” Brynjolf promised. “I've got security clearance and there's likely to be a proper healer around, and it's on the way to our base. No vampire's getting past them in a hurry.”

“We're going to a witchman base?” Dexion gasped, eyes widening. “Really? How _fascinating!_ I read Madmen of the Reach, you know. Always felt sorry for them. Do you think they have any Elder Scrolls?”

Brynjolf sighed inwardly. This was going to be a long journey, he could tell.

“I... don't think so. I think they prefer communing with spirits and working out new ways to modify the physical. Matriarch Keirine's never hired me to track one down, I know that much.”

“Yeah, if she can't sacrifice it or reanimate it, she doesn't care,” Sapphire laughed as she helped Dexion up. “Come on. Let's move, and if you see a guy wandering around with a plant embedded in his chest, don't point, stare or gods forbid ask him any questions. They really don't have a sense of humour.”

Dexion's eyes widened yet further, a little gasp of excitement escaping his lips and both Brynjolf and Sapphire hoped fervently that there really were no Briarhearts at Dragon Bridge Overlook, because Dexion Evicus was clearly going to do all three of those things given half a chance. Honestly, scholars. How any of them survived on their own out there was something approaching a miracle. But this one at least seemed to have luck on his side. All that remained now was to get him to the Reach.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Collapsed on the bed in the aftermath of sex, and Eola remembered what she saw in Cicero all over again. Yes, he was rather needy and clingy and all over her whenever he was in Jorrvaskr... but the camp exterior masked a vicious and bloodthirsty killer who also happened to be quite the kinky little deviant. On top or bottom, Cicero threw himself into the role with gusto either way, and always noticed the little details that others might miss. Yes, she'd missed her depraved little fool of a husband.

“I knew I married you for a reason,” Eola sighed as she lay back on the pillows, Cicero sprawled on the bed next to her with his face in the pillows, blood-red hair splayed over white linen. A vaguely conscious murmur was all the response she got. Smiling, Eola nestled in closer, wrapping her arms around him. Good to see him feeling better after earlier. He'd cuddled in her arms whispering mamas shouldn't leave their babies, they shouldn't, they shouldn't, and Eola had whispered she knew, sweetie, she knew, but her own ma would have done the same to her if she thought she could have got power out of it and not everyone's mothers were good and Cicero was lucky his blood mother had cared for him like she had. Cicero had dried his eyes and nodded and whispered Serana would need all the help and friendship she could get, wouldn't she, and was she all right, really? Eola hadn't known the answer to that one but did promise that they'd be her friends. Cicero had nodded, smiled, thanked her and kissed her, and kissing had led to groping which had led to frantic sex and Cicero curled up next to her, both of them feeling glad to have the other. And yet something was still nagging at Eola. 

“So,” she continued, knowing full well he wasn't asleep yet and would no doubt rouse himself a little given time, “what else happened out in Dimhollow? Yeah, you found this Harkon's minions scouring the place after offing the Vigil, and you had a fine time stabbing them all, and then you went poking around this hidden tomb and found Serana, who just wanted to go home. So you took her home, said no to vampirism because you'd miss roaming the tundra in beast form and ripping people to pieces with your shiny, pointy teeth...”

Cicero growled into the pillows, shifting his hips against the bed and glanced up, grinning at her with said shiny, pointy teeth on display, not as sharp as they'd be in beast form, but sharp enough.

“Keep talking like that and Cicero shall be aroused again, my love,” Cicero purred. Namira, but she really did like being married to him.

“Ah-ah,” Eola purred, hand on his back pinning him down. “No sex for you until you answer the questions. I don't care how much you pout.”

Cicero was definitely pouting, but Eola was quite used to resisting that cute face by this point.

“So Harkon kicked you out and so you went to alert Auntie Keirine who sent you to alert Del and then you came home,” Eola continued. “Except you kind of missed an important detail.”

Cicero had gone very still and when he did speak it was in a faux-innocent high-pitched gasp that indicated he knew damn well what she meant but didn't want to answer.

“What sort of detail, my lovely? Cicero is sure he's told you everything about Serana.”

“Serana, yeah,” Eola growled, narrowing her eyes. “But you didn't set out alone, did you? You had company! You had a Shield-Brother with you! Cicero, where in the Void is Athis! You said you and Athis took Serana home and then nothing. Did you leave him in the Reach? Did Delphine send him on a secret mission? Is he... is he all right?”

Eola's exterior finally cracked as she let her worry show and while she was near certain Cicero wouldn't have done away with her lover in a jealous fit of pique, she knew he was hiding something.

“Oh he is well, he is well!” Cicero chirped. “He is not... Only he remained behind at Hag's End. Er.” Nervous laughter and Eola had had enough. Grabbing Cicero roughly by the shoulder, she spun him on to his back and pushed him back into the pillows.

“Where. Is. My. _Boyfriend!_ ” 

Cicero stared up at her, terrified, and then he cracked. Apparently an angry wife was too much for him to handle.

“Cicero is _sorry!_ ” he wailed. “Cicero did not know! Cicero knew nothing until it was too late! Cicero could not have prevented it, it wasn't his fault!”

“What wasn't your fault?” Eola cried. “Cicero, what happened??”

Cicero whimpered something that sounded a bit like 'athisgotinfectednnowesavampereolaplsdonhitme'.

“Athis is what?” Eola demanded, brain trying to unscramble Cicero's rambling. “Wait a second, did you say he got turned into a _vampire?_ ”

Piteous whimpering as Cicero nodded. Eola tried to understand how this had happened.

“But you turned Harkon down,” Eola whispered, rolling off Cicero and lying back on the pillows, wondering what Athis looked like as a vampire, wondered how he was feeding, was he feeding? Was he happy? Worried? Upset? Namira, of course he was, he'd not come home, he'd sent Cicero on alone. He must be thinking she'd turn away for good if she knew.

“He was infected in Dimhollow, we think,” Cicero whispered, wretched. “Cicero did not know, Cicero doesn't think Athis knew, neither realised, not until we left Harkon's castle, and the change suddenly came upon him! So... so Cicero took Athis to Hag's End and they've registered him on their vampire registry and given him blood potions and... and Cicero left him there. Cicero didn't want to but he had no choice! Athis... Athis wouldn't come, Eola! He thinks... he thinks you will not love him any more!”

“What?” Eola gasped, staring at Cicero as she tried to process this. But Athis was sweet! Athis was fierce and sometimes grumpy but quietly affectionate in a low-key way, and he'd been difficult to court and seduce but it had been worth it, so worth it. She'd found herself with a quiet and serious gentleman who'd firmly believed in treating her like a princess, and she'd loved every minute. How he thought she'd leave over a little thing like turning into a bloodsucking monster, she had no idea. She was a flesh-eating monster after all and he still loved... well, he didn't actually know. But he still loved her. Just as she'd still love him.

“Cicero is sorry, sweetling,” Cicero said, miserable. “Cicero told him you would love him anyway, that you accepted people for what they were, always! But he did not believe me. Eola? Eola?”

Cicero had sat up, placing a gentle hand on Eola's back, nuzzling softly at her ear while Eola stared into space, trying not to panic. Athis... poor Athis. Had it hurt? Was he all right? Did the hunger gnaw at him? Was he getting used to it or did he want it gone? And she couldn't help but think that if he got used to the idea, if she could persuade him to indulge by feeding rather than subsisting on blood potions... maybe he'd one day accept her own secret.

“I need to see him,” Eola whispered. “Whatever else we do, we go to Hag's End and check on him first, right? I need my Athis, Cicero!”

Cicero's arms slipped round her waist and Cicero gently kissed her shoulder.

“And he needs you, and that is as it should be,” Cicero whispered. “Cicero shall bring you to him tomorrow, after we have all rested. The carriages go that way now, yes?”

Yes they did, fifty septims to Hag's End from anywhere in Skyrim, one way only because the drivers stopped outside, kicked you off the cart and rode out as fast as their horses could manage rather than stay anywhere near the place. A bit unfair, but Keirine didn't care. Keirine had a public portal to Markarth available and a Reachfolk-run carriage service to Solitude, Markarth and Karthwasten, she didn't care that the Nords wouldn't stop by her town.

Eola could wish she had a portal to the Reach available in Whiterun but so far Jarl Balgruuf had been very unreasonable when she'd tried to broach the subject. No matter. She'd been researching the rite to open one, and the thing about the portals was that the key thing wasn't the departure portal, it was someone having a portal set up at the other end. Like her aunt did at Deepwood Vale.

“Never mind the carriages, this is an emergency,” Eola decided, considering her options. “Think Serana will mind if we do a little portal-opening over at White River Watch?”

The one time bandit haunt near Whiterun had been cleared out by Cicero and Eola and was now their little love-nest... and impromptu abattoir for rites of Namira. Cicero usually cleaned all the bones and blood up in between feasts but the magical signatures were still there and some bloodstains were never coming out.

“Her childhood home features bloodied human remains as table decorations, I do not think she will mind,” Cicero yawned, leaning back against the pillow and reaching for Eola again. Eola snuggled into his arms, hoping he was right. She wasn't going to leave Athis hanging for any longer than she had to.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Not for the first time, Serana wondered if this had been a good idea. Not quite sunrise yet, so she was sitting up on the Skyforge watching the stars and fingering the blood potions in her pack. Enough to keep her going for a few weeks if she was willing to put up with being hungry half the time. It would have to be. It was that or creeping into someone's room and sinking her teeth into them, and Serana wasn't... that is, she didn't... she wasn't like that! She wasn't that sort of person, she was a polite, respectful girl, not the sort of deviant who liked biting people and drinking their blood, whether they liked it or not. 

_Remembering the face of the cattle in her father's stable – human or elven men and women, terrified, confused, half-mad from pain and blood loss, average life expectancy about six months from capture, crying in terror as Serana approached, sometimes pleading for her to stop but mostly just terrified confusion. The last one a twenty-something Imperial woman who'd sobbed as Serana bit into her and the whispered apology from Serana's lips before it happened did nothing to salve Serana's conscience._

Serana shivered, closing her eyes and knowing deep in her heart that her family were monsters, her father's entire court could only survive on human misery of the worst sort, by snatching people by force and brutalising them until everything that made them people was taken from them. Serana always felt sick after feeding on one of the cattl- no, prisoners, she reminded herself. They were people. Had been people. Fuck.

And the worst thing of all was that she could feel her brain adapting to the necessary reality of humans being food by shutting it off, by slowly adjusting to it, by denying the true horror of it all and starting to see them just as cattle, not people with hopes and dreams and families and feelings, but just meat containers for the blood. Just like everyone else at her father's court did.

It had been the reason she'd left. Easy to feed on humans when you never saw them, but she'd just got out of her tomb prison and spent two days with Cicero and Athis, human and elf but brothers regardless, bickering and fussing and occasionally cuddling, and Athis usually serious but sometimes cracking the merest hint of a smile at Cicero's antics. Both very definitely people, with inner lives and loves and needs, and Serana couldn't even imagine the thought of Cicero in rags, confused and scared and no longer sure who he was. 

She'd seen red hair on one of the prisoners and had to force herself to feed, and that had been it. She couldn't stay and let it change her. Serana had loved her father dearly once... but she couldn't cope with this. And so she'd retrieved the precious Scroll he'd spent more time with since her return than he had with her, gathered enough potions to support herself until she could get to Whiterun, and fled to find two people who might just help her again.

What she'd found had been an entire Nord mead hall led by someone who definitely wasn't a Nord warrior and who fairly reeked of dark magic herself – but there wasn't a stable full of thralls or body parts all over Jorrvaskr, for which Serana was thankful. In fact, it felt like nothing but an ordinary, nicely fitted out, home for a group of honourable warriors. Whatever Eola's story was, she was discreet and knew how to blend in. Serana could use the friendship of someone like that.

As if she'd guessed what Serana was thinking, the shadows shifted and Eola was there, gliding into view and settling down next to Serana, sweet smile on her face.

“Hello there,” Eola drawled. “Everything going well so far? I hope Jorrvaskr's living up to your expectations.”

“Honestly, no, I'd expected an army barracks,” Serana admitted, nothing having prepared her for how homey it all looked. “You know, with drunken Nords swilling mead and passed out over the table and a fistfight breaking out every five minutes. But it's all really... civilised!”

“That's because half of them aren't here,” Eola grinned. “Vilkas and Ria are away, Torvar's given up booze, and Cicero's really very domestic and has terrorised the new bloods into behaving themselves and cleaning up after themselves. But yeah, people are often surprised by how nice the place is. I keep telling them, we may be warriors but Jorrvaskr's our home. Battle doesn't often come to our home, not if we're doing our jobs properly.”

Eola's face flickered as she said this, and Serana wondered if battle had come here recently. Quite possibly, and from the look of it, someone had died on the Companions' side. But Eola's smile was quick to return and Serana decided not to ask.

“So anyway, Serana,” Eola continued. “I'm glad you came, and Cicero seems to like you, which is usually good, but I still had a few questions.”

Serana tensed up, not at all sure she wanted to answer them, and hadn't she told Eola everything anyway?

“What did you want to know?” Serana asked, wary. “I already told you about the prophecy.”

“Yes you did,” Eola said. “But you didn't tell me why.”

“Why what?” Serana asked, wrinkling her nose. “My father's an ambitious man who hates having a weakness and he's obsessed with finding out how to walk in the daylight. Does he need any other reasons?”

Eola blinked, before laughing and smiling.

“Oh. No. Not his reasons, sweetie. Yours. Yeah, stopping him putting out the sun is a noble goal and all, and I'm totally in agreement, but, well...” Eola leaned forward, smile fading as shadows played across her face, only the stars and braziers illuminating them. “Look, I'm a Forsworn princess. I know all about messed-up families and kin who aren't exactly wholesome and are a little too fond of dark magic and who will do whatever it takes to get what they want. But here's the thing. They're still my family. My ma and I hated each other and I celebrated with her killers when she died. In fact, they're still here – it was Aela and Cicero. But I'd kill either in a second if they hurt my father, and while I hated my mother, we both still backed the Forsworn. You're not just throwing your father to the bears, you're selling out his entire cause. I can stop him, but the price for this is the entire Volkihar court getting wiped out. Including, perhaps especially, your father. Are you really ready for that, Serana?”

 

“It isn't my cause!” Serana cried, trying not to think of childhood memories of her father, or even post-vampire memories of a man not yet completely lost to her. _A man who genuinely thought having handed me over to Molag Bal so we wouldn't die of old age was a good thing._ Serana visibly shuddered, looking away from Eola, not wanting the human girl to see her quite this vulnerable.

“You have to understand, I didn't want any of this,” Serana said quietly. “I just wanted a happy family with my mother and father and me, and everybody else in the castle. I was expecting to grow up, get married, maybe move away, see the world. But it never happened. Father... he was dying. Healers could do nothing. He didn't want to die. And then the sacrifices started happening. The screams... the blood... Mother just said it was to stop him dying, I didn't want him to die, did I? And I didn't. So I looked away. I tried not to think about it. And then one day it was my turn. Mine and Mother's. Mother told me it would be all right and to just lie back and let it happen.”

“Let what happen?” Eola whispered. “Serana?”

Serana felt her throat closing up, and she really didn't want to talk about this with a woman she'd only just met. But there was something in Eola's voice that made Serana want to trust her.

“He gave us to Molag Bal,” Serana said quietly. “There was a ceremony. It was... degrading. But we survived, and then Mother and I were vampires, and Mother turned him. And that was it. Happy immortal family.”

A little gasp from Eola and Serana felt the warmth of Eola's hand on hers. 

“Lamia Opusculae Bal,” Eola whispered, quoting the book that told the story of the first vampires... and the violation required to create one. “You never chose to be a vampire, did you?”

Serana shut her eyes but didn't push Eola away. All this time and she'd never been able to talk about it to anyone, her parents making all the decisions and expecting her to obey, and even when her mother realised Harkon was going too far, that hadn't changed. It wasn't even that Serana disagreed with her mother necessarily. It was just that no one had ever asked her.

Serana shook her head. Not her choice, no... but having said that, after all she'd suffered in the process, she wasn't sure about giving it up.

“Serana, if you don't want to... there's a cure,” Eola said quietly. “Two if you count taking the Beast Blood. There's this summoner in Morthal who's been researching it, and my aunt's been corresponding with him... if you wanted to not be one any more, there's a way. I mean, there's a price... but don't worry, Cicero and I would be happy to help with that.”

“No,” Serana said, surprising even herself with her vehemence. “No, I'm not asking any more of you. I went through enough to become a vampire, I don't want to give it up.”

“Understood,” was all Eola said. “If you ever change your mind, let me know, I can make arrangements.”

“I won't,” Serana snapped, before realising that probably sounded a bit ungrateful, and she should be a little nicer to the first person in literally thousands of years to actually listen to her. “I mean, not that I'm not grateful, but I don't know if I want to.”

Eola was still smiling gently, patting Serana's shoulder, the crackling coals of the Skyforge in the background the only noise as they sat together.

“So if not a cure, what do you want?” Eola asked, still with that same curious tone of voice. “Why'd you leave?”

Why? Gods above, Serana couldn't even begin to tell her. Because she'd missed her father, but she'd come home and realised the father she remembered wasn't there. What she'd come home to was a father who accepted her back into his court but clearly didn't trust her. A father still bent on world domination and he didn't care who he hurt.

“I never had a choice,” Serana said softly. “But I'm not taking that choice away from everyone else. And I might have to feed on humans to survive but I don't want to enslave them. I loved my father once but that man is gone. And what use does an immortal have for an heir? Then there's his court, all vying for his position one day, and if that ever happens, I'll be in the way. An obstacle. In a mortal court, one might marry me to secure the throne for his bloodline, but in an immortal court, who needs a wife and children? Harkon doesn't. Not... not any more. So... so I guess we need to overthrow him and put them all down, don't we? Except I can't do it alone. I mean, maybe if I built alliances in the court and assassinated him... but that just keeps the whole thing going, doesn't it?”

“You want the entire court gone,” Eola mused. Serana nodded.

“The world's better without them,” Serana admitted. “My father should have died a long time ago. This is just putting him out of his misery.”

“Now that we agree on,” Eola said, voice gentle as she rubbed Serana's back. “Well, you'll be pleased to know we can help. Might need your help first though. Serana, you're probably wondering where Athis is.”

Now that she mentioned it...

“I assumed he was out on another job,” Serana said, but Eola's eyes told another story. Her face might be half-shadowed but the set of her shoulders said she was worried. “Why, has something happened to him?”

“Yeah,” Eola said softly. “Got himself infected in that dungeon you were locked away in. Stubborn elf didn't tell anyone he was even ill until it was too late and he turned...” Eola's voice choked on the words, head in her hands and Serana realised she was crying. Not loudly. Not obviously. But the Harbinger of Jorrvaskr's boyfriend had been accidentally turned into a vampire and Eola clearly was devastated by it. Serana felt for her but she really wasn't sure what she could do in this situation. Not to mention feeling a bit insulted that Eola could welcome her to Jorrvaskr with one hand and sob over a newly vampirised boyfriend with the other.

“What did you need?” Serana asked, more for Athis's sake than anything else. He'd not asked to be a vampire – outright turned it down in fact.

Eola pulled herself together, drying her eyes.

“Need you to talk to him. Or offer to listen at any rate,” Eola finally said, throat rough from crying. “You didn't choose it either, you might be able to help. He might feel better if he had a friendly vampire to talk to.”

“You can't cure him?” Serana asked. If Eola could get her cured, surely Athis could benefit too.

“Yeah, course,” Eola whispered. “But he told Cicero to tell me goodbye! Cicero said Athis doesn't think he's worthy of being my boyfriend any more! Serana, I think he's going to be all noble and self-sacrificing and tell me he can't be with me any more! He thinks being a vampire means he's not good enough for me! He thinks I won't want him any more!”

“Is he right?” Serana had to ask. Eola shook her head, staring up at Serana with tears streaking down her face.

“No!” cried Eola. “Of course he's not! He's my Athis! I don't care if he's turned into an undead blood-drinker! I still love him!”

Serana stared at her, realising she meant every word. She truly did look heartbroken and worried and determined to find her newly-vampirised lover, and if Eola wasn't thinking too clearly about how she was going to support two vampires in one mead hall, Serana couldn't really fault her for that.

“Of course you do,” Serana found herself saying, taking Eola's hand in hers. “And we're going to find him and make sure he knows that. You need me to talk to him, I will.”

A squeeze of the hand back, and Eola looked up, smiling, still sighted eye shining with emotion.

“Thank you,” Eola said softly. “Whatever happens, you and me, we're good, you hear?”

Serana could only nod, no idea what to say to this, because this had never happened before. Someone listening and talking and understanding and laughing, and Serana realised this must be what having friends was like, and that she'd gone all these years never really having one before and now she appeared to have three of them... Serana realised her eyes were damp and then Eola was whispering her name, sounding confused and a bit guilty, and then Eola was holding her, rubbing her back and whispering she was sorry, she hadn't meant to make her cry!

“I'm not crying,” Serana whispered, and she wasn't, it was just her eyes were leaking, that was all, why was Eola so worried. “It's fine, I just...” She squirmed out of Eola's arms and rubbed at her cheeks and caught her breath, wondering just what was wrong with her lately. She'd never been like this before, she'd always kept her emotions to herself. It must be the aftereffects of being alone in the dark. It'd pass. These things always did eventually, right? Even if Cicero's wide-eyed anxious face and the wailing that mothers shouldn't lock their children away, it was wrong, wouldn't leave her mind.

“You OK?” Eola said gently, and Serana just nodded.

“Thanks,” Serana said, feeling she ought to say something after all this emoting. “For listening. I thought you Companions would all be about slaughtering the monster and saving the world. I never expected anyone to care about how I felt about it all. I... thank you.”

“You're welcome,” Eola replied, extending a hand and helping Serana up. The eastern sky had turned a shade of pale pink and already the city was starting to wake, farmers leaving to go tend to their fields and market stallholders going to set up shop, and the guards changing shifts. Eorlund Gray-Mane would no doubt be arriving to fire up the forge soon and it was probably best he didn't find Eola and a strange vampire sitting up there. “I mean, we do still do the saving the world and killing the bad guy thing. But it's like Elisif always says, saving the world's the easy bit. Rebuilding it, that's the hard part.”

Serana couldn't disagree there. Truth be told, she hadn't really thought about what happened beyond stopping Harkon (easier to think of him as that because if she thought of him as Father or Daddy, she'd never be able to go through with this). The thought of a life after that, of figuring out how to live in a world that wasn't a court full of conniving vampires, hadn't really occurred to her. The prospect terrified her. But she had a feeling that with Eola's help, it might be bearable.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our fearless vampire hunters reunite... but no sooner are all four of them together than the cracks already start to show. Meanwhile, with a Moth Priest and an Elder Scroll under the same roof, it's finally time to see just what Harkon's after... and time to start planning to bring him down.

Nightfall in Hag's End and Athis had risen from the bed Keirine had provided to go do what he did every night. Sit at the shrine to Azura and wonder why his goddess had forsaken him.

_It was your own fault. You should have said something to Cicero, stopped off in Solitude instead, visited the Temple or the apothecary._

He should. But it was too late now, and all he could do was endure the pitying looks and occasional hard stares and the whispers from Dunmer and Reachfolk alike.

'Reach-Princess's lover… vampire… does she know?… hold on, if vampires are attacking, why's he even here… Princess Eola's boyfriend, idiot, we can't execute him. Don't worry, Matriarch'll take care of it…'

Athis didn't want to know what Keirine would be taking care of, but he did know he couldn't take much more of this. Where had Cicero got to anyway? He'd promised he'd come back with Eola, or more likely a letter telling him he was no longer welcome in Jorrvaskr. The thought depressed Athis more than anything else.

Noise outside, more intense whispering then silence and then footsteps as the door to the small stone building housing the Reclamations shrines flung open.

“Athis, are you all right?!” Eola cried as she ran to his side, dropping to sit next to him and flinging her arms round him without even hesitating. The change in skin temperature didn't even seem to register with her… and then he smelt it. The same dog smell he'd picked up from Cicero. _Werewolf._

“Wait, you're a werewolf too??” he demanded, shoving her away. “How long… was it you who turned Cicero? Or was it him turned you?”

Eola's eyes had narrowed, face closing up, sparks flickering at her fingers, and that only happened when she was angry or about to cast, or both, and Athis belatedly realised that had not been the best response under the circumstances.

“Neither,” Eola snapped. “Cicero and I both accepted the Blood of Hircine from Aela after Farkas and Vilkas cured themselves and Aela felt lonely. And given someone got himself infected with Sanguinare Vampiris, I hardly think you've any right to judge!”

“I didn't choose this!” Athis cried, and Eola's expression only softened a little.

“I know,” she said softly. “And I don't care you're a vampire now. I might even be able to sort out a cure if you want. But I like being a werewolf and I'm not giving it up. You still want me as a partner, you accept that. Or you can argue the case with Aela, see how far you get.”

Not very far at all and they both knew it. But that there'd apparently been a pack of werewolves operating out of Jorrvaskr wasn't really the issue. The real issue was that his girlfriend had joined it, and presumably used her beast form now and then.

“They say in Morrowind werewolves feed on the flesh of their dead prey to get more power, and that they must change every night and kill someone or they die,” Athis said quietly, wondering if this was really true, and if so how come no one in Jorrvaskr had noticed the body count racking up. To his surprise, Eola actually laughed softly.

“The first is true – feeding on a fresh kill will increase your strength, heal wounds and over time lead to new abilities developing. The second… my dear, you've clearly read too many trashy bard's tales. I'm not even obliged to shift if I don't want, and I certainly don't _have_ to kill anyone.” From the way Eola's lips curled, Athis realised that no, she didn't have to… but she certainly would if she got the chance. Maybe not every night, but often enough, and feeding on human or elven flesh clearly didn't bother her.

Athis felt the vision he'd always had of Eola shattering as he glanced out of the window at the Forsworn settlement and realised no, Eola wasn't a secret romantic yearning for a better life. Nor was she escaping from the Reach to live an honourable life helping the helpless as a Companion. She was a true Forsworn, one who could look on Keirine's true face and not even think there was anything wrong.

“You're no better than the vampires,” Athis breathed, not sure who he hated more right now, her for being a werewolf and a witch, or himself for ever believing she was more than that. Eola flinched away, and were those tears in her eyes? Athis roughly shoved the guilt away.

“When did you last see me sacking a town or village?” Eola snapped. “When did you last see me kill anyone who wasn't a legitimate target or thoroughly deserving? When did you last see me give discounts to a poor client with a worthy cause, or listen to someone in need and promise them we could help? All the fucking time to that last one.”

Which was definitely true, Athis had seen her do it, and he could barely get anywhere in Skyrim without someone recognising him and buying him a drink or discounting goods in stores or even just stopping him in the street to ensure he told Eola they'd not had a problem since she'd helped them out and to thank her most sincerely. The public face of the Reach-Princess Harbinger was of a caring humanitarian always willing to champion the underdog and those less fortunate.

The private face of the Harbinger was apparently a dangerous werewolf killer who liked to feed on her prey afterwards.

“You _eat_ people,” Athis growled. “And you expect me to look the other way?”

Eola closed her eyes, not able to meet his gaze, but her voice didn't sound weak when she spoke next.

“You're now compelled to feed on the blood of other people until you either take your own life or someone else does,” Eola said grimly. “There's a cure but it involves killing someone and offering their soul to the Daedra as an offering so they'll banish the vampirism from you. Alternately, drinking my blood would also cure you, but then you'd be a werewolf. Just like me.”

“I would not be like you!” Athis snapped. “I'd be… I mean, I wouldn't use it! And I'm drinking potions, not feeding!”

“Someone still had to donate that blood though,” Eola said, shrugging. “Look, I don't have a problem with it. We all have needs. I can accommodate yours, if you let me. But Athis, you can't exactly claim the moral high ground here. One day you're going to have to feed on an unwilling or unknowing victim. What will you do then?”

“I don't know,” Athis whispered, confidence faltering as it occurred to him she was right. Would the Reach last forever? By human standards it might last a very long time, but by elven standards that might be no time at all. And when you knew old age would never claim you? Athis closed his eyes and tried to hide the fear inside… but he couldn't deny it was there. There really were no good outcomes to this, were there?

“Athis?” Eola's voice had grown softer, gentler as he felt her draw near, a hand on his arm. “Athis, are you all right?”

“Of course not,” Athis managed to say. “I got turned into a horrible monster, and then I found out my girlfriend's an unashamed werewolf who doesn't really see anything wrong with feeding on corpses. All the time I thought you were this sweet, idealistic princess looking for a better life, and it turns out you use dark magic.”

Sharp tutting noise from Eola, and Athis wasn't entirely if she disapproved or just found the idea hilarious.

“I'm the daughter of the King in Rags, and you thought I was some wholesome innocent?” Eola laughed, the derision plain to hear. “Some cosseted daddy's girl? I love my father but he spent most of my childhood in prison, and if I'd not run away in my teens, I'd likely have ended up fighting like Kaie did. Did you want some gentle maiden in a flowing silk dress and glass slippers, spending her life sitting in a palace by the sea waiting for some hero to rescue her? Because that is not, and never was, me, Athis. That's Elisif, except in the end even she got tired of waiting and went out to save Skyrim herself. And she did not get a handsome young prince out of it, and honestly she's not as innocent as all that either. She has no problem ordering the deaths of her enemies – or killing them personally.”

Athis didn't need reminding of that – he'd had the story of Ulfric's death from Vilkas who had quietly added that while it had been a heroic fight and all that, there were some things a man couldn't unsee, and Ulfric's screams of pain as he tried to put the fire out before Elisif finally ended him, not to mention what was left of his face afterwards, would stay with Vilkas for a long time. But Elisif was not the one he'd fallen in love with.

“I know what politics involves and I know what being a Companion involves,” Athis said softly. “Or I thought I did – did Kodlak really have no problem with werewolves?”

“Kodlak was one,” Eola told him and if Athis thought this conversation couldn't get any weirder, he was wrong. “All the Circle were – that's been the case for the last few hundred years. Kodlak consented to the blood being given, and for all I know spent decades revelling in it before he started regretting it in old age. We cured him in the end, but don't think that taking it on wasn't something done freely.”

Athis really couldn't get his head round the idea of _Kodlak Whitemane_ rampaging across the countryside ripping unsuspecting bandits to pieces in beast form… and yet the more he thought about it, the more he could see Kodlak justifying it to himself.

“I don't know what to say,” Athis whispered, at a loss as everything he thought he knew crumbled. “Does Cicero know – of course he knows. He's more than half crazy but the really disturbing things about him were there already, I think. And I don't think that old company of his operated inside the law at all – either that or the Empire have some secret special ops unit and he was one of them.”

“You're not far wrong, although that's Cicero's story to tell, not mine,” Eola said cryptically. Athis just bet it was, although he had no intention of actually asking. Azura knew what he'd hear back.

“Am I still welcome as a Companion?” Athis asked, although he was definitely at this point starting to question the company's reputation as honourable warriors. Law-abiding ones at any rate – but given what he'd just turned into, perhaps that wasn't entirely a bad thing.

“Yes. If you want to be,” Eola said, and there was something about her voice, the sadness and hope combined that got to him… and while he didn't know where any of them went from here, he did know that he couldn't do this alone.

“I think I still want to be,” Athis admitted. “I – I don't know where we go yet… but I don't want to deal with all this alone. And… gods, Eola, I don't even know what happens to us. All this time and it turns out I barely know you.”

Athis couldn't hide the heartbreak in his voice and when Eola spoke, there was little recrimination in hers.

“It's not entirely your fault. If you weren't looking, I wasn't going out of my way to show you either. I… dammit Athis, no one ever looked at me before like I was a hero. Like I was a good person! I mean, that's because I'm not, but that's not the point. Point is, Da loves me but would love me anyway regardless of what I did. And Cicero loves me precisely because I am not a sweet little innocent. But you… you saw the best in me. Even if it wasn't there to begin with. And… I joined the Companions because Cicero wanted to and because Kodlak seemed taken with him and because Cicero does very well indeed when he's somewhere where there's always someone around to talk to and when you can point him at someone in need of stabbing and guarantee him a pat on the head afterwards for being a good boy. I didn't expect… well, I certainly didn't expect to end up as Harbinger, and I certainly didn't expect to enjoy it as much as I do, and… I didn't expect to end up being seen as some sort of hero of the downtrodden of Skyrim. I mean, I've always been something of a champion of the forgotten and the wretched, but I never got the chance to make a difference personally before. To be admired, loved even. And then there you were, believing in me and telling me how proud you were and I couldn't… I'm sorry, Athis. I should have said, but I couldn't. I never wanted to be a better person before, but you made me want to try. So I did.”

Eola fell silent, sounding as if she was on the verge of tears, and Athis felt his heart break as he realised he just wanted to hold her and tell her it would be all right. Except he couldn't quite bring himself to do it.

_She's a monster._

_She's a monster who helps people and makes the world a better place._

_Not for the ones she kills and eats!_

_They were hardly making the world a better place, you know that._

_It's still wrong!_

_So is drinking blood and now look at you. Admit it, you'd thought she'd turn from you in horror. You haven't lost her after all._

_Not in the way you thought you had anyway._

Athis wanted to cry… but the thought also occurred to him that if redemption was possible for a flesh-eating werewolf witch, it might also be possible for a vampire.

“Eola,” Athis said quietly. “I don't know where we go from here. But I don't want to be alone and I need your help. So… help me?”

Eola actually smiled, although the sadness didn't leave her eyes. She shifted closer, reached out her arms and pulled him into a hug.

“I'm not going anywhere,” Eola said gently, and Athis closed his eyes and held her, tears in his eyes. 

_Don't leave me._ Utterly hypocritical considering what had been going through his mind but as he held her in his arms, he realised he couldn't let her go. Not right now. As for the future, that would have to wait. He supposed he'd have to set up a regular blood supply, go back to Jorrvaskr with her and see how things went, and maybe, just maybe, things might be all right. So he told her this and Eola nodded before looking up, actually grinning at some excitement he'd yet to hear about.

“Now that's where you're wrong, my dear,” Eola drawled. “We're not going back there, not quite yet. You see, it turns out we just missed Saff and Brynjolf on their way to report in to Delphine. Seems they've also been having quite the adventure with vampires. See, the only ones who can reliably read Elder Scrolls are Moth Priests and it turns out that now that Harkon has an Elder Scroll, the vamps made a play for a Moth Priest that's currently visiting Skyrim. Only because you and Cicero knew about Serana and the Scroll, and had the sense to report it to Delphine, Sapphire and Brynjolf were also out looking and they got to him first. They've taken him to Sky Haven Temple for his own protection.”

A good plan, but without Serana's Elder Scroll, a Moth Priest wasn't a lot of use to them. Athis told her this, and Eola's grin just widened.

“Well now, Athis. Funny you should ask. Guess who we've got with us...”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

It had been a surprise to see Serana again, and an even bigger one to hear she'd run away from her family merely two days after he'd last seen her… and the biggest surprise of all was her awkwardly patting his arm and asking if he was all right.

Athis hadn't been able to stop himself hugging her, which had turned out to be awkward for both of them given Serana apparently wasn't that keen on people touching her, but he'd rather gruffly been able to let her know he was pleased to see her again and could do with all the friends he could get right now. Serana had patted his back and told him she'd help in any way she could.

And so the four of them had left for Sky Haven Temple, taking the portal to Markarth before setting out for Karthspire with the stars twinkling above them and Masser lighting the way. Athis had dropped back, talking quietly with Serana, while Eola walked ahead with Cicero. Although she'd be moving a lot faster if she didn't keep glancing over her shoulder.

“Beloved, they have not disappeared into the undergrowth to rut, you are quite safe,” Cicero said calmly, seeming to guess what was on Eola's mind.

“That's not what – they're not going to do that!” Eola sighed. Serana really didn't seem like she wanted sex with anything right now, and she knew Athis didn't just go round having sex with random women… but that didn't stop her feeling anxious.

“Then why is your brain worrying and wailing, my sweet,” Cicero said, still calm, but his hand slipped into hers and squeezed. Bloody Forsworn marriage bonds transmitting emotions to him. Eola scowled but Cicero was politely but firmly staring at her, and she realised she was going to have to answer.

“He only just met her and they're already talking like old friends,” Eola said, aware of how petulant this sounded, but that didn't mean the feelings weren't real. “He's not even sure he still loves me any more. He found out about the werewolf thing. And worked out the flesh-eating bit on his own. And it doesn't matter how many people I've helped, how I've tried to be a good person, tried to do the right thing, tried to be who he thought I was. He knows who I really am now. And the only reason he hasn't run away is because he's a vampire now and needs all the friends he can get. But now he's got Serana and he doesn't even need me for that!”

Eola wasn't crying, not exactly, but she was definitely pouting, she could feel it, and Cicero was looking sympathetically back, snuggling closer with wide eyes gazing up at her.

“Cicero knows, sweetling, Cicero is only thankful his father died not knowing Cicero's true past,” Cicero sighed. “Oh but Eola, if he was truly revolted, he would have left regardless, or told people. He is doing none of that. He does not want you to leave, and he cannot go through life with only one friend. Only Serana is one of his kind and he wishes to speak with her.”

“He wanted a princess, Cicero,” Eola said bitterly. “She's one. She's a better one than I am.”

Cicero tutted, shaking his head.

“Princess? Cicero has seen her father's court, my love. It is a dark and violent place, beloved, far far more evil than your father's court. Athis saw it too and rejected it. He is not likely to reject you for not being wholesome and innocent, and turn to Serana.”

“She's rejecting her past!” Eola hissed. “She's helping to wipe out her father's entire court! Me, I'm a loyal Forsworn!”

“Yes,” Cicero said calmly. “Because your father is cunning and smart and knows how to build a country that will not get wiped out by the Nords despite being full of Hagravens and necromancers and necromancing Hagravens. And your father's laws are giving Athis a sanctuary of sorts.”

“So it'll be just me he is rejecting. Great,” Eola said morosely. Athis was drifting away from her and she had no idea how to stop it or even if she should. Cicero let go her hand and placed an arm round her waist instead.

“Then it will be his loss,” Cicero murmured. “And Cicero is not going anywhere, my sweet. Cicero appreciates you, even if he does not.”

Cicero was whispering in her ear, nose rubbing against her cheek, seductive purr in his voice, and although Eola was feeling too miserable for sex, she still appreciated having him around.

“Thank you,” Eola whispered, turning to brush her lips against his. “I love you.”

Cicero squeaked and kissed her, lips meeting hers as their eyes closed, and Eola could feel happy contentment from him, and he must have liked what he got back from her because he stopped and smiled, and vicious killer he might be but he also made Eola's heart skip whenever he smiled.

“Cicero loves you too,” he purred. “Now, shall we move on? It is best if we reach Karthspire before the sun rises.”

Eola had no problem with that. Taking Cicero's hand in hers, she led the way. If she focused on targeting Harkon, it took her mind off her own dysfunctional love life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

They reached Karthspire in the early hours of the morning, and aside from the ReachGuard sentries on duty warning Cicero to keep his cock in his pants this time, and Cicero going scarlet and muttering an affirmative before sprinting for Sky Haven Temple, there were no incidents.

The Temple was quiet but Eola and Cicero both knew where the dorms were – beds visiting Blades could just fall into at all hours, no questions asked, and so all four of them snatched a few hours rest before everyone else got up.

Which meant that after breakfast and introductions were out of the way, Serana's Elder Scroll found its way into the hands of a delighted Moth Priest.

“Extraordinary!” Dexion whispered, gazing at the Scroll as Serana laid it on the war table in Sky Haven Temple's main hall. “And you had it with you this whole time?”

“For the last few thousand years, it turns out,” Serana told him, rather amused to see him not bat an eyelid at two vampires walk in. Eola had assured him they were friendly and after that, Dexion Evicus had calmed down and simply treated them like everyone else. In fact, he'd seemed more fascinated by the Scroll than anything else, doting on it like a baby. Indeed, he'd been so obsessed with the Scroll, he'd even ignored Cicero in full motley.

“So, now that we're all here,” Delphine announced as everyone gathered for the reading, standing at the head of the table, Brynjolf on her right, Ralof on her left, Cicero down the other end of the table, perched on Eola's lap, and Athis and Serana seated next to each other in the middle, neither really saying much. Eola wasn't even looking their way, preferring to rest her head on Cicero's chest while Cicero fussed nervously over her. Instead it was Cicero who kept sending sad glances in Athis's direction, a man missing his brother.

But no one had time to spare for Eola's love life, least of all Delphine the Blademistress. Not with an Elder Scroll and a Moth Priest to read it.

“About time we had this Scroll read and found out what this Harkon fellow wants with it, wouldn't you say?” Delphine drawled, indicating the Scroll. “Dexion, are you ready?”

“Oh absolutely, yes,” Dexion whispered, enthralled as he reached for the gleaming cylinder. It was only Brynjolf who raised an eyebrow.

“You don't need to take any special precautions or anything, do you, lad?” Brynjolf asked, shrewdly inclining his head. “I'd heard reading these things was dangerous.”

“Yes, yes, for the untrained they certainly possess a high level of risk, but don't you worry, young man, I've had years of training in these matters. Now, if you'll just let me ready myself...” Dexion had picked up the Scroll, taken a deep breath and was holding it out, heedless of Ralof determinedly looking away with his eyes shut and Brynjolf's worried expression.

“I see…” Dexion intoned. “I see… a vision before me, an image of a great bow. I know this weapon! It is Auriel's Bow! Now a voice whispers, saying 'Among the night's children, a dread lord will rise'. In an age of strife, when dragons return to the realm of men, darkness will mingle with light and the night and day will be as one. The voice fades…. But wait, there is more here. The secret of the bow's power is written elsewhere. I think there is more to the prophecy, recorded in other scrolls. Yes, I see them now... One contains the ancient secrets of the dragons, and the other speaks of the potency of ancient blood. My vision darkens, and I see no more.”

Dexion sank into a chair, rubbing his eyes as he placed the refurled Scroll on the table. Ralof was by his side in seconds, asking if he was all right.

“Knew it,” Brynjolf said softly and Delphine also looked grim but she motioned for Brynjolf to take the Scroll away.

“Get that to Esbern for storage in the library – tell him not to try and read it under any circumstances whatsoever,” Delphine told him before running to Dexion's side. “Dexion, are you all right?”

“Yes, I – I'm fine, I think I need to rest...” Dexion whispered, and Ralof shook his head.

“I don't think he's fine, Delphine. I think that Scroll's damaged him somehow.”

“All right,” Delphine said quietly. “Look, get him to a bedroom and let him rest. Get him any potions he asks for, do not leave him alone. Send for one of the Reachfolk healers too, I think one of them will need to have a look at him.”

Ralof nodded and help Dexion away, leaving Delphine surveying the four who'd brought the Scroll in the first place.

“So. Two more Scrolls needed,” Delphine said, thinking this over. “One about the potency of ancient blood – I have literally no idea where we'd even start looking for that, but I will have all our agents listening out for one. But the Scroll with the secrets of ancient dragons – that we do know of. I believe that's the one our Dragonborn learnt Dragonrend out of. If we can get that...”

“But Elisif donated it to the College of Winterhold,” Eola replied, her heart sinking as she recalled Elisif's proclamation on the matter. “To be kept safe for Skyrim and the Empire and the knowledge of future generations, and to be held under the highest security and not allowed to leave the College without her express permission or the command of the Ruby Throne.”

“So get Elisif's permission then,” Delphine said, shrugging. “Not like you don't know her, Eola.”

“It takes time, Del!” Eola protested. “I'm not even sure if she's in Solitude or Markarth at the moment!”

“Solitude for another week or so,” Delphine sighed. “Suggest you stay here for today then leave at sunset – get an overnight carriage from Markarth or portal to Hag's End and then a carriage from there, might be quicker. Should get you to Solitude in time for court to open and then you can petition Elisif directly. Come on, Eola, your brother's the steward and your father's likely to be around as well, this should not be difficult for you. Tell her everything and ask if she can get the Scroll sent to us.”

“OK, will do,” Eola said, giving in. Eola detested politics and while she loved her father and siblings, visiting the Royal Court of Solitude always weighed on her a little. Hard to escape all the eyes watching you. Not what any Namira-worshipper sought after. But she could play the game when she had to. “But that's only one Scroll. What about the other?”

“We'll find it,” Delphine said firmly. “Who knows, maybe whatever's in that Elder Scroll we do have access to will give some clues.”

“Not if it's that other one Harkon had,” Eola pointed out. “Serana's ma made off with it after sealing Serana away, and who knows where _she_ went?”

A good point, but there was one potential line of enquiry, and as one, all eyes turned to Serana.

“So, Serana, where might your mother have gone with that other Elder Scroll then?” Delphine said, taking a seat opposite Serana, scrutinising her carefully as only an experienced spy could.

Serana did not like scrutiny.

“I don't know!” Serana cried. “She wouldn't tell me where she was going. She wouldn't even tell me where _I_ was going until we got to Dimhollow. My mother's secretive, paranoid and not exactly forthcoming about her plans.”

Delphine didn't really have the right to judge anyone for those flaws, but nevertheless there had to be some lead and Serana was their only source.

“She must have had said something,” Delphine said, leaning in, pushing for the merest hint of information. “You're her daughter, she couldn't just expect you to do what you were told with no questions asked.”

“You don't know my mother!” Serana laughed bitterly. “But I did ask where she was going. She wouldn't say where exactly… but she said she'd be going somewhere my father would never think to look. It was cryptic, but something about the way she said it… like she was drawing attention to it. Somewhere my father would never think to look.”

Somewhere Lord Harkon would never think to look, in all the time Serana had been in prison. Somewhere that would have been standing back then. Didn't leave a lot of options.

“Well, these things are always in the last place you look, aren't they?” Cicero said cheerfully. “Once Cicero's hat vanished and he spent hours and hours hunting all through Jorrvaskr for it, swearing that if Vilkas had taken it, Cicero would hit him, and no doubt annoying his brothers and sisters no end… and it turned up in his wardrobe, stuck down the back of a drawer! Foolish Cicero!” Cicero giggled and smiled gently at Serana. “Maybe the location of your mother and her Scroll will also turn out to be obvious.”

“Cicero, sweetie, there's not going to be an Elder Scroll wedged behind the wardrobe at Castle Volkihar,” Eola sighed, but at the mention of her childhood home, Serana had sat up, something occurring to her.

“Wait,” Serana gasped. “It might be! I mean, not behind the wardrobe. But there was a garden once, a herb garden that my mother used to love tending to. Father could never see the point of it, of course. He's since torn down the part of the castle that used to lead to it. He's cut off an entire wing that way. No one goes that way any more. But there's plenty of old tunnels and cellars, and a secret set of docks to the west, and Mother was familiar with it all, far more than Father ever was. He'd never go there anyway, still less so after she left. He tore the linking tunnels down, shut off half his own castle because it reminded him of her. And she must have known he'd do it. He'd never think to look there for his Elder Scroll. It must be there! Or… some way to find it.”

Delphine looked thoughtful, glancing at Eola.

“What do you think?” she asked. “Think it has promise?”

“It's worth a look,” Eola said, considering this. “Gonna be dangerous though. If Harkon finds us… and that's not taking into consideration anything lurking in those tunnels. I'm willing to believe Serana though. Also it's the only lead we've got. Want us to check it out?”

“Yes,” Delphine said, not hesitating… but not an idiot either. “But go to the royal court at Solitude first, tell Elisif everything. Madanach's there too, you'll need him to authorise a ReachGuard assault, and we definitely will need Matriarchs involved. Then make sure you let them know where you're going. Make contact with the Blades camp nearby as well. If you aren't back out of that castle within two days, they're to contact me or the High Queen. The disappearance of a Reach-Princess is grounds enough for the High Queen to investigate, and with your reports, Elisif will have no problem rallying the Jarls. Prophecy or no prophecy, even if we don't find Auriel's Bow, we're taking Harkon down.”

No real disagreement from anyone at the table, and Serana lowered her head, accepting the inevitable. Delphine nodded, and meeting concluded, went to find Ralof so he could round up the Blades warriors, leaving two vampires and two werewolves… one of whom had just triggered the downfall of her own father.

“Are you all right?” Athis said quietly. “I didn't know Delphine would start planning an entire siege on your family home. I'm sorry.”

“Don't be,” Serana said, her voice quiet and soft, echoing in the cavernous main hall of the Blades headquarters. “We all knew it would come to this. My father won't listen to reason, he's not interested in peaceful co-existence. He wants his old kingdom back and he wants to rule as a vampire lord, with power over the sun itself. He'd… if he got his way, mortals would fight back and eventually they'd win, I think. Whatever happens, he's going to end up with human armies storming his castle and killing him. At least this way, it'll be quick. And a lot less innocent people are going to die. But thank you. All of you. It's good to have friends.”

Eola stared at her, biting her lip, and then the next thing Serana knew, Eola had shoved Cicero off her lap, ignoring the outraged spluttering this elicited, and rushed round the table, dropping to her knees at Serana's side, about to go for the hug before stopping and just touching Serana's arm instead.

“Likewise,” Eola said gently, smiling at Serana, and whatever fears she'd had over Athis leaving her, she'd forgiven Serana. “Whatever happens, I'm here for you.”

“Thanks,” Serana whispered. “I mean, you're coming with me, right? I don't even know if there'll be anything there, but we've got to look, right?”

“We will,” Eola promised. “Come on, Princess. Let's go find your ma.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The long walk back to Markarth and this time, Eola took Serana's arm in hers and started chatting about her childhood and how she'd grown up in Karthspire when it was still a rebel Forsworn camp.

“So do you know why this land feels like it does then?” Serana asked and Eola just frowned.

“Feels like what?”

“Different,” Serana said, shivering. “Sort of… twisted. Like the sort of place that would breed holy men and women… or fanatics. I think my father would like this place.”

“He's welcome to try and claim it off mine but I warn you now, it won't go well,” Eola said dryly. “Forsworn know a vampire when they see one, they'll notice his spies, and Kaie's on the alert for his people now. She'll be on the alert for people acting strangely too, and we know how to neutralise mind control. Mandatory singing of the Litany of Griselda three times a day for all ReachGuard and all Keep staff, and random singsongs every so often to ensure people aren't having mind control renewed somehow. Harkon might frighten some mortals but not us. We know our blood magic and most of us can cast fire.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” Serana said, suddenly looking about her with new eyes. “That's what I can sense, blood magic, woven into the very earth somehow. Gods, there's been so many battles round here, so many deaths over the years, the Veil's thinner than I've ever felt it, and someone, several someones, have been using that to weave magic into the land. Over and over and over – if you had a blood connection to the spirits here, you could do all sorts of things. And you people do, don't you.”

“Oh we certainly do,” Eola grinned. “Reach-magic's a style all of its own. Mainly because knowledge gained never really dies – not when the clan Matriarch can summon a spirit back to ask it questions. You know how lots of societies get embroiled in tiresome theological disputes over what ancestor or great writer or orator really meant when they said such and such a thing? We don't really have that. Anything like that starts up, Hags just summon their spirit back to question them. Settles an awful lot of things. Spirit says something we're OK with, matter is decided. Spirit says something clan doesn't like, spirit gets banished and we decide that particular ancestor wasn't so smart after all. Of course, it's also possible Hags just summon a particular familiar spirit to impersonate the ancestor in question and brief them in advance on what to do so as to promote social cohesion, but that works too.”

“You – seriously?” Serana asked, curious despite herself. “I had no idea mortals were that understanding of magic.”

“Most of them aren't,” Eola said wryly. “And we're kinda controversial. But we're also the heroes who rescued the Dragonborn from unjust imprisonment and helped her end the civil war, so they're putting up with us.”

“You're going to have to tell me a bit more about all this, it sounds… well, it sounds a little hard to believe,” Serana said, preparing for a tale and a half. She wasn't wrong, as Eola launched into the story of how the Dragon-Queen of Solitude won her throne.

Meanwhile, Cicero had dropped back to keep Athis company, which mainly took the form of sidling up to him and staring up at him with big sorrowful eyes.

“Hello brother,” Cicero whispered. “Cicero wished to know… Cicero wondered...” Cicero didn't finish the sentence, instead stopping to cuddle Athis, practically squeezing the breath from his lungs - if Athis had needed to breathe anymore, this might have been problematic. Even so though, his ribs were starting to bruise, he could feel it. So he settled for patting Cicero on the back then pushing him away, wondering what had got into him all of a sudden.

“I'm fine,” Athis growled. “Getting used to sleeping during the day, got enough blood potions to see me through the month, plenty of people in the Reach seem to be on medications of one sort or another. This is not far different. It could be worse.”

Cicero patted his arm, smiling sadly. 

“That is good, brother, very good indeed, only that is not – not what Cicero meant. You spoke with Eola. But you two are not with each other now. You have barely spoken! She is upset! You are upset! Cicero is worried! Cicero is scared… Cicero likes having a brother! Cicero doesn't want you to split up!”

Of all the things to bother Cicero, Athis hadn't thought that would be it. He'd have expected Cicero to be indifferent, or possibly threatening him for breaking Eola's heart. He'd not expected crying and pleading from _Cicero_ over a possible split with Cicero's wife. And yet here was Cicero, wringing his hands and visibly upset over the whole thing.

“Cicero, I'm not leaving Jorrvaskr,” Athis sighed, hoping he wouldn't have to at any rate. “You'll still see me, and you can still talk to me.”

“It is not the saaaaammmme!” Cicero wailed, clearly distraught. “Eola might be upset! Cicero would need to console her! It would be awkward! Bad! Wrong! Athis cannot leave sweet Eola, Athis cannot do this to poor Cicero!”

Which was all very well, but Athis wasn't staying in any relationship just to keep someone else happy.

“Cicero, she eats corpses in her beast form and doesn't see a problem with that, in fact I'm not entirely certain she doesn't do it in human form either,” Athis sighed. “I don't know if I can stay with that! And she says she's trying to be a good person these days, which begs the question what she was doing before she met me! And… by Azura, you know, don't you? You knew all of this, probably did long before you ever married her. Doesn't it bother you??”

Cicero laughed nervously, going slightly pink, before shifting his features into that polite mask of his that could hide anything.

“Cicero does not judge his loved ones,” Cicero said carefully. “Everyone has their flaws, don't they, brother?”

“Flaws is leaving your things everywhere or trimming your nails in the main hall!” Athis cried. “Not… not killing people and eating them! And that you don't seem to mind is… frankly worrying. Cicero, I've got to ask, what exactly were you a part of in Cyrodiil? What exactly did you do??”

If Cicero had looked a bit embarrassed before, now he looked frankly horrified, face going pale and eyes widening, before he hastily hid his true feelings with a suspiciously practised skill.

“Oh, but Athis is surely not interested in Cicero's youthful adventures!” Cicero cooed. “Athis does not need to know what Cicero got up to many many years ago.”

Which meant there was definitely a past to be discussed then.

“I mean it, Cicero, what the actual fuck were you involved in?” Athis hissed. “It sure as Daedra wasn't something you can sing songs of round the fire at Jorrvaskr, I know that much. Was it some secret Imperial black ops unit or something?”

To his surprise, Cicero giggled and kept right on giggling before throwing his head back laughing. 

“Oh that is funny, brother, that is hilarious!” Cicero laughed, cackling away like… well, like the little fool he was. Cicero laughed and dried his eyes and grinned.

“You know that were Cicero involved in such a thing, say a secret organisation that could not be talked of openly lest things be compromised, Cicero could not possibly say anything on the matter,” Cicero said playfully. “Even if Cicero were retired, Cicero could still not speak lest he reveal something he should not. Cicero has done many things, most of which are better not spoken of.”

“Such as?” Athis said irritably, a bit tired of the dancing. Imperials were known for being able to talk round a subject until the cows came home, but Cicero took it to extremes even for him.

Cicero's laughter faded, and Cicero tilted his head, sidling artfully closer with a crafty little smile on his face.

“Cicero did whatever the job required,” Cicero said, voice soft and silky as he purred in Athis's ear. “Cicero did whatever was _necessary_. Cicero still does whatever is necessary; he has merely acquired new masters. You have the Dragonborn and the old and new Harbinger to thank for that. Now Cicero serves his High Queen and the downtrodden and needy of Skyrim. Mostly their needs are honourable. Mostly.” 

Cicero left the rest hanging as he stepped back, eyes not leaving Athis's, and Athis shivered as he realised behind the affection and squealing and camp flamboyancy lay a very dangerous man – well, he knew that. But it was one thing to know it, and quite another to feel it.

Athis had the answer he wanted at any rate – Cicero had led a life that was questionable at best and downright illegal at worst, and frankly should never have been allowed anywhere near the Companions in the first place. Why Kodlak had taken him in was a mystery… but he had, and thus far, Cicero had, if not led a spotless life, not had anything pinned on him that didn't involve the death of someone truly deserving. Athis couldn't call Cicero a good man… but he was a skilled and fearless fighter, and more than that, one loyal without question to those he called brother (or sister, and Athis suspected it was only a matter of time before Serana got similarly adopted).

Athis patted Cicero awkwardly on the back and smiled at him, hoping the nerves weren't too obvious.

“Yes, well, that was all a long time ago, wasn't it Cicero, and I'm sure you've moved on since those days,” Athis said, feeling relief claim him as Cicero grinned and cackled in response. “I mean, no sense raking up the past, eh? Whatever happened is your business. Right now, you're a Companion of Jorrvaskr in good standing and that's the main thing, right?”

“Yes!” Cicero squealed. “Yes! I am, I am!” He tilted his head, still grinning. “This means you will not be abandoning sweet Eola?”

Athis had to think about that one, and truth be told, he still wasn't sure. But he stared ahead up at Eola, watching her describing a dragon fight in lurid detail, and felt his heart constrict. Something about her still couldn't help but draw him to her. He couldn't help but imagine kissing her, holding her, pushing her down and sinking his teeth into her…

He shoved the image away, appalled. He couldn't. He couldn't!

_You could. Easily. Ever wondered what a princess's blood tastes like?_

Athis felt vaguely revolted… and yet the wolf smell from Cicero reminded him of one thing – biting a werewolf would be the last thing he'd ever do as a vampire, and then he'd have other, hairier problems to deal with.

Maybe, just maybe, he was better off with a werewolf in his arms. Someone who'd make sure he'd never do it again if he did lose control.

“I'm still getting used to everything,” Athis said, not wanting to commit himself just yet. But he did stop and put his arm round a surprised but delighted Cicero. “But I think you and I are all right. You are who you are. Just try not to stab any innocent people, all right?”

Cicero squealed and promised he wouldn't, he would stab only the guilty and the deserving. Which was something, Athis supposed. So he hugged Cicero, and listened patiently as Cicero enthused over what they'd find at Castle Volkihar, and if it would be very dangerous with lots of things trying to kill them, he hoped so anyway, it was going to be _very_ exciting, didn't Athis think so, brother?

Athis did think so, although he did rather hope it wouldn't be quite as dangerous as Cicero thought. In that, he'd be quite wrong. But before that, the Royal Court of Solitude awaited… and an audience with the famous Dragon-Queen herself.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our four heroes do the sensible thing and report this whole mess to law enforcement before heading off into danger. Which means the Royal Court of Solitude, where the High Queen and Reach-King are presently to be found, and it turns out they're not the only ones come to lobby the High Queen on the vampire crisis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I really did like this one - writing Elisif the High Queen is a bit of a change from writing her internal monologue, but it's an enjoyable one. Also I got to write little Maia in! She's a little over a year old so doesn't do much, but it's nice writing Elisif and Madanach as parents and seeing their softer sides.
> 
> It's entirely likely that I may at some point write another fic further down the line crossing this universe over with Dragon Age Inquisition, in which an older, verbal Maia shows up. So this is her introduction.

Solitude had always been an impressive sight, and the early morning sunlight showed it off at its best, the Blue Palace gleaming in blue and gold, reflecting the sunlight off the roof… and off the scales of the dragon basking on the roof.

“Is that a dragon??” Serana gasped. “A real one, on the palace roof?”

“That is indeed,” Eola purred as they made their way up the path to the imposing stone arches that formed Solitude's gatehouse. “That's Odahviing, the Dragon-Lieutenant of Solitude. Protector of the city, he who scares away lesser dragons, and also has reduced banditry in Haafingar and Hjaalmarch considerably. We're all very fond of him.”

“Wow,” Serana whispered, in awe as she realised the stories were true. “Hey, it's the Solitude windmill! Gods, I always wanted to see that up close. You can just see it from the castle.”

“Well, now you're here,” Athis said, squinting in the sunlight, already feeling his skin prickling and blood heating up, and Cicero's comments that he should be glad he was in the far north, it was so much worse for vampires in Cyrodiil, there the sunlight would sear skin and leave unsightly burns, were not helping. Although Cicero was hardly one to talk, he got terrible sunburn if he was out in it too long without coating all visible skin in strong fire resistance salves.

“I know!” Serana gasped, nearly walking into people as she passed through the gates and stared at the city, enthralled. “Gods, this city is beautiful!”

Athis couldn't help but steal a glance at Eola as Serana said this, and something inside him constricted with jealousy as he saw Eola looking genuinely pleased at this. She'd looked like that at him once. Sometimes she still did at Cicero.

He doubted she'd look at him the same now and that tore at his heart, and he desperately wanted to take her in his arms and tell her he loved her… but he didn't know how any more. It broke his heart, but there was little he could do about it. Not right now anyway.

So he kept quiet and the little party made their way up to the Blue Palace, hoping that the High Queen would be available. They weren't disappointed… although it turned out they weren't the first to arrive.

“High Queen, you can't just ignore what's going on,” a deep Redguard voice growled echoing down from the throne room above. “My people have dealt with fifteen reported vampire attacks in the last three months alone, and we must have about thirty refugees at Fort Dawnguard. How many more need to flee their homes before their Jarls do something about it?”

“Isran, we're investigating the source of these attacks, and I can promise you we have everything under control,” a masculine voice replied, clearly unimpressed with the posturing.

“That's Argis, the steward,” Eola whispered. “My big brother.”

“Literally! He's huge!” Cicero giggled, only to be swiftly hushed by Eola. Serana could imagine. Argis' accent was Nordic and most Nords weren't built on the small side. Serana did however wonder how a Breton of the Reach ended up with a Nord brother. Then another voice spoke up, male but light, another Reachman from the sound of it.

“Doesn't seem like it! High Queen, we respect your abilities and your commitment to protecting the people of Skyrim, of course we do, but we can't fend them off forever! The Vigil are already gone, the Knights of the Coloured Rooms could be next!”

Serana turned to Eola, hoping for an explanation. She was surprised at the one she received.

“They're the guardians of the Restored Temple of Meridia at Kilkreath,” Eola whispered. “They honour the Lady of Life, deal with undead issues, that sort of thing. Not enough of them to really hunt down vampires in the numbers your da's got though.”

“The High Queen of Skyrim's sponsoring Daedra worship?” Serana whispered. Eola just smiled.

“She did a favour for Meridia involving rooting out necromancers, got given a magic sword in return, put it to good use hacking Draugr to bits, and once Meridia's Temple was necromancer free, some new folks moved in to rededicate it to Meridia, and Elisif decided kicking them out was too much hassle and a bit ungrateful, plus it stopped anyone worse moving in,” Eola whispered. “That's their boss, Brother Celann. Ex-Vigilant. I'm told he left because he disagreed with their extremism, also he's a Reachman. Too many Daedra-worshippers in his own family.”

From what she'd seen of the Reach and its people so far, Serana could well believe Daedra worship was rampant across the entire province. Given the amount of spirit-binding and blood magic traces in the very land itself, it would have to be.

Serana followed Eola up the grand staircase leading up to the throne room itself, wondering what to expect. The stories had led her to expect some all-powerful warrior out of legend, leading vast armies as she laid waste to her foes… yet Queen Elisif had barely even spoken yet.

Standing before the throne were two male warriors, one a large, imposing Redguard in practical dark armour with a shield decorated with a quartered sun on his back, and the other a shorter dark-haired Breton in red and gold armour with a fiery sword and sunburst on the front. Both had arms folded, looking annoyed, and the focus of their ire was the young redhaired woman on the throne. She didn't look like an all-conquering warrior at all, just a young woman in fine green and red clothing and a gold circlet who appeared to be developing a headache.

“Brother Celann, I've taken the trouble to assign extra guards to Dragon Bridge and Kilkreath, at the cost of Solitude's safety, I might add!” the young Jarl sighed. “I already lost my court mage to this, I know what's at stake! I'm just thankful they attacked while Madanach and I were in the Reach.”

“Which was totally intentional, they were targeting Sybille not you, and didn't want to risk your wrath,” the Nordic man next to her snorted, and despite the nobleman's outfit, he had an ebony sword at his belt and the muscles visible beneath his clothes indicated he knew how to use it… as did the facial scar and missing eye. This man was a capable warrior indeed, a veteran fighter, and there was definitely something in his looks that reminded Serana of Eola.

“I know,” Queen Elisif said coldly, eyes narrowing and her posture shifted subtly, sending out a brief flicker of menace. Serana realised that underneath that pretty noble exterior was someone far more dangerous than she seemed, and that Queen Elisif only needed a target for her wrath to do some serious damage. The High Queen took a deep breath and sat upright, eyes boring into the Redguard's.

“Isran, have I not been generous enough?” Elisif said coldly. “I negotiated with Jarl Maven to provide you with Fort Dawnguard, I've persuaded nobles, Jarls, the Thalmor, merchants, even private citizens and small businessholders with little enough gold to spare, to donate to your cause. I even had people track down your old contacts, who by the way were all shocked and amazed you were _admitting_ you needed help and in particular theirs, and in some cases needed considerable persuasion to return to you. I was hoping you'd have something for me by this point.”

Isran grimaced but did not look away. 

“I am… grateful… for the help, High Queen,” Isran said, sounding more than a little grudging. “And we've been able to put it to good use. But we need information, leads! All the soldiers in the world are no good if we've nothing to attack, Jarl.”

“Try taking a prisoner or two instead of slaughtering everything in your path, you might have some,” Argis growled, eyes flashing. “Had more than a few reports of your people killing maybe-vampires or maybe-thralls. We _will_ be taking the weregild out of your funding, Isran.”

“These vampires are cunning,” Isran snarled back. “Can never be too careful.”

Serana saw the young queen's posture shifting as she leaned forward, gritting her teeth and clearly this close to losing her temper. And then everyone was distracted by another man walking in, an old Reachman dressed in something that looked like a dragon priest's robes if Serana was any judge, positively radiating magicka in a way that must be alerting every mage in the city to his presence which meant he was either seriously powerful in his own right, stupidly arrogant or had a ton of guards to deal with rivals for him. Serana didn't think any mage got to that age, level of magicka and the High Queen's court by being stupid. In fact, perhaps the strangest thing about him was that he was cradling a baby in his arms, a chubby infant in a white silk be-ribboned dress with red hair and bright silver-blue eyes like the mage's.

“Elisif!” the mage called to her, apparently heedless of any protocol that might apply to someone entering the High Queen's throne room, or indeed might require them to not just bandy her first name about as if she was some serving girl. “Got something requiring your immediate attention! Got a little princess wanting an immediate audience with the High Queen on a matter of the utmost importance. She's not had enough lullabies sung to her today or been told how cute she is enough, and she thinks that's appalling, don't you, Brenyeen?”

The mage was holding the baby out towards Elisif, grin on his face, but Elisif was paying him no heed. All her attention was on the baby, who'd squealed “Ma! Ma!” at her and was beaming at the High Queen, who was no longer looking remotely queenly. No, she'd just squealed “Baby!” and held out her own arms, taking the baby off the mage who'd carried her in and cooing over her as the little one snuggled into her arms, reaching for long hair and chewing contentedly.

Well, that baby could only be Elisif's own, judging from the blissed out look on her face, and this was confirmed as the mage grinned and whispered in Elisif's ear, arm round the throne and quietly enough so that most couldn't hear him… but Serana's sensitive hearing caught every word.

“Thought you needed a break – could feel you from here. You normally only get like that in combat or just prior to it.”

Elisif did look up to him then, happy smile on her face as she kissed him on the cheek.

“Thank you, love,” she whispered, and then she turned her attention back to her court… and then her eyes fell on Eola. 

“Eola!” she cried, seeming genuinely pleased to see her. “Hello! Maia, look who it is, it's your big sister, look!”

The baby looked up, gurgling at Eola and babbling something like “olla!” at Eola, who'd already made her way over, lowering her head to coo at what was apparently her little sister, surely not through Elisif… and Serana realised the old man by the throne must be Madanach the Reach-King, Eola's father… and husband to the High Queen and therefore father of the baby currently perched on Elisif's lap and babbling up at her half-sister.

“Hey cutie!” Eola was purring over her. “I got some important news for your ma! You OK with that? You OK with me borrowing her?”

Maia seemed fine with his, although her father seemed less pleased, pouting at Eola and wanting to know where his hug and kiss were, hmm? Which was adorable but Serana's attention was caught by the sound of a weapon being drawn and she turned to see Isran drawing his battleaxe, while Celann had also reached for his sword.

“You'll regret showing your faces here, bloodsuckers,” Isran snarled, preparing to advance, even as Eola cried out for him to stop… and Cicero stepped forward, shielding both Athis and Serana, daggers snicking into his hands.

“Cicero is very sorry, but Cicero cannot allow you to harm his friends,” Cicero said calmly, apparently unfazed by the prospect of a big burly Redguard bearing down on him with a battleaxe. “They are here to help the High Queen, not kill people.” Cicero tilted his head, smiling craftily. “Cicero would hardly encourage stabbing in the High Queen's court room. Cicero has _standards._ ”

Isran growled and turned to the Jarl, whose smile had vanished… but it was Isran she was glaring at, not the two vampires or Cicero.

“You can't possibly be willing to allow vampires to walk openly in your court!” Isran raged at Elisif. “Especially at the behest of this… this _fool!_ ”

Elisif's eyes flickered and she carefully handed little Maia back over to her father.

“Hold our daughter for me,” Elisif said calmly before getting to her feet, standing on the dais for extra height and staring down Isran with such vehemence even he began to realise he might have miscalculated.

“Have a care, Isran,” Elisif said coldly, her voice starting to throb with some power Serana didn't recognise, but which made her shiver. Behind the Jarl, Madanach was carefully enfolding his child in his arms, a hand over the ear not pressed to his chest and fingers casting a Muffle spell of some sort over her. “That little fool is one of my best and most loyal agents, and _I_ will decide who I will have in my court room, not you!”

Cicero was already preening under the praise, but Isran barely shot him another glance.

“You're making a mistake,” Isran warned her, but he shouldered his weapon. Elisif barely reacted.

“I will be the judge of that,” Elisif said smoothly. “Now, I believe Eola had some information for me, didn't you, dear?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, that's right,” Eola said, smirking at Isran from where she was standing by the throne. “Elisif, this is Serana. Cicero and Athis saved her, and in return she's been able to tell us where the vampire attacks are coming from and what their plans are. We thought you should know. Also, we, er, need a favour. But it's totally connected with the vampires, don't worry.”

Elisif looked Serana over quizzically, and then a single word escaped her lips, a soft sibilant whisper that wasn't magic exactly, but a demand to the world that it couldn't help but answer.

“ _Laas!_ ”

Serana gasped as she recalled tales of ancient Nord warriors, warriors with both hands for their weapon and their magic not in their hands like a mage's, but in their voice… like a dragon. This was dragon-magic, she could tell, the power of the legendary Thu'um… and this young queen had it. Bright blue eyes fixed Serana and Elisif frowned.

“Isran speaks true, you are a vampire!” Elisif said, not entirely sure about this. “And is that… wait a second, is that Athis?? How long have you been a vampire?!”

Athis lowered his face in shame, but it was too late to hide his vampire status.

“Not long, High Queen,” Athis said softly. “I'm sorry. I didn't know I was infected until it was too late.”

“We registered him at Hag's End, Keirine's sending him blood potions,” Eola promised, which got Madanach's attention.

“Oh, so we've got a Companion of Jorrvaskr claiming blood on the Slan Gwasanaeth's septim, is that so, daughter?” Madanach snapped, clearly not pleased with this. “I set the Adar Gwasanaeth up to save lives, not sustain vampires that _don't even live in the Reach!_ ”

“They don't live at all!” Isran roared, and Celann was glaring too. “They're not people! They're things, monsters! Look, one has information, fine, I won't question your sources. But don't trust it, don't keep it around any longer than you have to, and _never_ think it's your friend!”

Eola's eyes had narrowed, Madanach was scowling even as Maia fussed in his arms, and Elisif's eyes had flickered as she inhaled sharply, clearly displeased.

“I will take that advice on board,” Elisif said, voice clear and commanding and not one you disagreed with in a hurry. “That will be all, Isran, Celann. I will hear Serana out in closed court, and decide a strategy based on what she tells me. I'll be in touch. Dismissed.”

“High Queen-,” Isran began, and then Celann touched his arm, motioning for him to back down. Elisif's glare intensified and she spoke once more.

“ _Dismissed,_ Isran!” Elisif said, raising her voice only slightly but it was enough to send vibrations through the air and the ground strong enough to rattle windows and set Maia off wailing. On the far side of the room, a dark haired Nord woman in ebony gear stepped forward, and she was in no way smiling.

“That's your cue to leave,” she said grimly, with a stony-faced demeanour common to housecarls everywhere. Isran took the point, and with one pointed glare at Cicero and the vampires, he bowed perfunctorily to Elisif before leaving via the other staircase. Celann bowed to Elisif rather more respectfully and then actually saluted Madanach with a fist to the chest before following Isran out.

With the vampire hunters gone, Serana finally felt able to relax a little. Except for the fact that now the High Queen's focus would be on her.

Elisif had turned to Madanach, taking Maia off him and rocking her in her arms, whispering softly to her.

“I'm sorry, baby! I'm sorry, little one!” Elisif soothed, kissing Maia on the forehead while Maia sniffled and grumbled in her mother's arms. 

“Mama wasn't angry at you, baby, I promise!” Elisif whispered guiltily. “Sweetie, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, baby. I love you, baby! I do! I love you, little Maia! Who's my little Maia, hmm? Who's my good girl? You are, baby! Yes, you are! You're my little princess, aren't you, sweetie? Yes you are! Yes you are! There's a good girl, there you go, Maia, there you go, hush now, hush now baby, shhhhh.”

Maia had calmed down, snuggling into her mother's arms, no longer wailing but still looking a bit upset. She was however feeling curious enough to peep out at Serana, nervous but clearly interested. Elisif smiled fondly at her baby, stroked her head and then turned to Serana, clearly intrigued herself by the presence of two vampires… and one an utterly unknown quantity at that.

“Well now,” Elisif said, her voice gentle and calm for now so as not to disturb Maia again, but Serana had no doubt that she'd unleash the Thu'um at the merest hint of danger to her beloved baby.

Serana idly wondered if her own mother had ever cooed like that over her. She remembered Valerica being kind, on occasion at least, if a little distant. But never that ridiculously affectionate with so little care for what anyone else was thinking, so long as her baby smiled at her. Said baby was watching Serana uncertainly, chewing on her mother's hair again. Elisif barely noticed.

“Eola tells me you can help us stop these vampire attacks,” Elisif said, eyeing Serana curiously. “Good news indeed, these attacks seem to be coming nightly, and my people are dying. I have Jarls, nobles, even ordinary citizens, petitioning me for help, but there's so little I can do if I don't know where they're coming from… or why. But first tell me, why's a vampire turning on her own kind?”

Serana glanced at Eola, who'd approached, placing a hand on Serana's shoulder.

“Her family were really awful to her, Elisif,” Eola began, but Elisif stopped her with a frown.

“I asked Serana,” Elisif said, her voice cutting through the throne room. But then she inclined her head graciously. “But perhaps we can discuss this in private. I'll see the four of you in my bedchamber – Argis, can you find some extra chairs for us?”

“El, you sure about this?” Argis said, frowning at Serana. “I can let Athis go, but we don't know this one at all.”

“High Queen, being alone with two vampires is a risky proposition at best,” the housecarl warned. “Do you at least want me to get your armour?”

“I'll be fine, Lydia,” Elisif said, already turning and walking away. “Madanach will be there too, won't you, dearest?”

“I will?” Madanach said, surprised. “Oh, I mean, yes I will. I mean, yeah, Isran's Dawnguard's all very well, but you're going up against dangerous undead monsters, you want the ReachGuard.”

“Because they are led by dangerous undead monsters!” Cicero cooed, before a pointed glare from Madanach shut him up, and Serana recalled tales of the Reach's barbarian hill tribes who were said to cut their own hearts out and offer them to Molag Bal to be better warriors. Her father had coveted much, even ruled much as a mortal… but he'd never once even considered marching on the Reach. Not until recently anyway. Serana idly wondered what had changed.

Madanach stepped away from the throne, taking Cicero by the arm and tersely telling him to fucking behave himself for once, before hauling the giggling little jester, who seemed bothered not at all by Madanach's irritation, in the direction of Elisif's bedroom.

“Is this going well?” Serana whispered to Eola, who took her arm and led her away, Athis following behind and glowering for some reason. Eola nodded, smiling.

“Yeah. She's going to hear you out, but you're gonna have to be honest. She can tell if you're hesitant or nervous. That said, she's OK. And she will help. If… if you're still OK with all this.”

“I'm about to throw my own father under a dragon, I don't think you can ever really be OK with that,” Serana said softly, closing her eyes and trying not to remember happier times. But the memories were hazy, and it slowly dawned on Serana that before she'd been shut away, her father had been distant and preoccupied for years and barely spoken to her, and after her return, her father had been more pleased to have foiled his wife's treachery than interested in spending time with her. She literally had no idea when the last time Harkon had actually been any kind of father to her actually was. She must have been young. Still mortal, even.

She felt Eola's fingers tighten on her arm.

“Sometimes you wonder if things could have been different,” Eola said quietly. “If you'd tried harder, behaved better, been a better daughter. But Kaie did all that, and it turns out talking with Kaie now, she's relieved Ma's gone too. She feels horrible for thinking it, but she sees Da with Elisif and how happy they both are, and how they both dote on Maia, and neither of us can ever remember our Ma being like Elisif is with Maia. There's Elisif telling a baby who can't even talk yet she's sorry for being angry and upsetting her, and I don't think our Ma ever apologised for anything to anyone. And I think we've both realised that our mother was a terrible person and a terrible parent and we both deserved better than we got. So, we're not mourning. Not any more. Do I wish it had been different? Sure! But that would have involved my ma being a completely different person. What happened needed to.” Eola's free hand patted Serana's wrist, and Serana looked up to see sympathy there, someone else who knew just how hard the whole family thing could be, and somehow Serana felt easier in her own mind. What happened needed to. Her father was a terrible person too and maybe Serana deserved better than she'd got.

_I think I'm still going to mourn him. I think I already am. But the man who loved me's been gone for years. This is something else._

“Thank you,” Serana said quietly. “I don't think I could do this without you. Or Cicero. Or Athis. You're all awesome in your own way.”

Cicero had turned around in the doorway to Elisif's room, Madanach having let him go in order to take Maia off Elisif and put his baby to rest. Cicero was smiling hopefully at her, and he was sweet, there was no doubt about it, despite the fact that he was unarguably not sane, and equally unarguably quite quite willing to shed blood any time, any place if someone gave him reason. Meanwhile Athis was staring at the floor, shuffling awkwardly, and Serana had been glad to have someone around who understood what vampirism was like, including being shoved into it suddenly and unwillingly. He seemed like a good man in a way that Cicero definitely wasn't, and Eola… Eola was somewhere in the middle. Good intentions but methods that perhaps weren't. Serana could empathise with that.

Steeling herself, Serana tightened her grip on Eola and went in for her audience with the High Queen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Far from taking a seat, Queen Elisif was reclining against the pillows on the antique four-poster bed that dominated the room, baby Maia lying next to her, kicking her feet in the air and beaming up at her mother. Madanach was lying alongside his wife and baby, already conjuring some glowing illusion dragons for Maia's entertainment.

Cicero meanwhile had been unceremoniously deposited and left to round up some chairs, which he did, positioning them by the bed and motioning for Athis and Serana to take a seat. Serana took the one nearest the High Queen, Athis alongside her, and when she realised there were only two chairs, she wondered where Cicero and Eola were going to sit.

She got her answer when Eola slid on to the end of the bed, curling up opposite her father while Cicero snuggled up at her side. Of course. As kin by marriage to the High Queen, Eola had a few privileges at court. Such as persuading Queen Elisif to hear a vampire out in private.

Said High Queen was watching her intently, apparently intrigued. Serana wondered if she'd ever met a vampire before. Serana certainly hadn't met a High Queen before.

“So. Serana,” Elisif said, without preamble. “Tell me more about your family. Are they actually your blood kin or just the group who turned you? Forgive me, I know this may be insensitive but I need to know what your loyalty to them is… or isn't.”

“It's all right,” Serana said, lowering her eyes and trying to smile. “They are my family – my mortal parents and their court. My father was a king once. He ruled a vast territory but he couldn't conquer old age. Until he became a vampire, him and Mother and me. He ended up gathering an entire vampire court at our home. It's a castle, west of Solitude.”

Madanach was frowning, mouthing that final sentence to himself, but Elisif… Elisif had sat up, turning to shield Maia with her entire body.

“What's his name?” Elisif whispered, but Serana knew. She just knew that somehow, High Queen Elisif knew her father's name, would know as soon as it left her lips, somehow knew the story already.

“Harkon,” Serana whispered. “Harkon, Lord of Clan Volkihar. My mother's-”

“Valerica,” Elisif finished, looking like she was about to throw up. “By the Eight, Queen Valerica's alive?? Or… undead, I suppose. I didn't even know she was real...”

Serana must have been staring, and she wasn't the only one. An entire room, save only the baby too busy playing with her feet to know what was being talked about, had fallen into stunned silence.

“You've… heard of him?” Eola finally said, at the same time as Madanach finally demanded to know what on earth Elisif knew about the Volkihar vampire clan, even the Reachmen had never managed to find out if there was any truth to the legends.

“I didn't know the Volkihar vampires were connected to Harkon!” Elisif sighed. “I wasn't sure they were real either! But my father was a bard and he told me the story once. It was the tale of Harkon the Bloody, a High King of Skyrim in a time lost to the ages. And the story goes he conquered many lands and people but he couldn't cheat death. So he tried sacrificing to all the gods he could find in hopes one would answer his prayers, and there's a whole bit about the Aedra all turning away one by one and then he starts asking the Daedra, but they either say no or ask for things he's not willing to give… but Molag Bal's the one to listen after Harkon starts sacrificing all the young maidens of his country. He agrees to give the gift of immortality if Harkon's willing to sacrifice his own daughter, but in the end it's Queen Valerica who takes her place. So Molag Bal grants the immortality but turns Harkon's own people against him and there's a rebellion, and… Daddy told me when I was little that the princess took over after her father was killed when the other Jarls rebelled, and she married their leader and lived happily after, because the rebel leader was handsome and a good man who treated her well. But when I was older he quietly told me there were older versions where the princess got sacrificed anyway by her own father after Queen Valerica was gone, and that some stories said Harkon was still out there somewhere, biding his time, and he'd come for the throne one day.”

Elisif's voice was bleak and hollow and she instinctively turned to look at her baby, real fear in her eyes… but her husband simply shrugged, taking his wife's hand and kissing it.

“He picked the wrong High Queen to challenge,” Madanach said, calculating smile on his face. “That's if it is the same man – so Serana, what really happened? And mind telling us just how far west of Solitude this castle is? Wouldn't happen to be on an island just off the coast, ten miles north of a couple of old Dragon Cult ruins, would it?”

The Temples of Volskygge were barely ten miles south of Castle Volkihar, and Madanach's stare on hearing this was not something Serana wanted to see again, ever.

“Elisif, my second city is the nearest human habitation, my _sister_ is there, the Reach has to act if you don't!” Madanach said through gritted teeth.

“Your sister's quite capable of defending herself for long enough for me to rally troops and get them there,” Elisif said firmly. “Which I will do as soon as I've heard the rest of what Serana has to say. Serana, I'm sorry, you were telling us what the real story of Harkon the Bloody was.”

“There's not much to add,” Serana admitted. “Your father's version wasn't too far off. My father worshipped Molag Bal. He sacrificed innocent people to Molag Bal, trying to make himself immortal, and eventually Mother and I were the only ones left. So… he gave us to him. And now the three of us are vampires.”

Serana didn't say anything else. She'd not even wanted to talk about this to _Eola,_ never mind the High Queen of Skyrim. She felt her throat close up and her eyes itch but damned if she was going to cry. 

Silence apart from Maia babbling – and a little noise of sympathy from Elisif. Serana glanced up, and actually felt worse on seeing the pity in her eyes. _I'm not a victim, dammit!_

Of course not. She was here selling out her father, wasn't she. Well, if she was going to stab her father in the back, she would do it without crying.

“Is that why you're here now?” Elisif said quietly. “You never forgave him?”

Serana shrugged, not sure how to answer that.

“It's not that simple. I guess it never is, is it?” Serana sighed. “I was only seventeen at the time. I never had a lot to do with the politics. I never went to Solitude, lived most of my life in our summer castle. That's where I got… turned. After that, the Jarls rebelled. They didn't want a vampire king. One called a Moot, and my father fled the city. He hired a Breton witch to hide his castle from prying eyes and left Skyrim to its own devices. I don't know what happened after that. We lived a life away from the rest of the world, and the rest of the world left us alone. After a few centuries, everyone had moved away from us. I honestly thought they'd forgotten we existed.”

“Not entirely,” Elisif said ruefully. “But you're right we didn't realise there was still a court of vampires out there, still less that they were the famous Volkihars. Harkon the Bloody's reign was so long ago, most people don't even remember him. Why's he making an appearance now?”

So Serana explained about the prophecy, about how her father had chased after this prophecy that promised him a way of fighting the sunlight, of allowing him to walk without fear of the sun and be king once more.

“He's insane,” were the first words out of Madanach's mouth. “Does he honestly think that just because he doesn't have to retreat during the day that we'll just let him take over?”

“I think he thinks he can blackmail the Jarls into appointing him king in return for allowing them a few glimpses of the sun now and then,” Serana said, trying to recall what she'd been able to overhear. “He's been shut away a long time, I don't think he's entirely thought this through.”

“He really really hasn't,” Madanach growled, before his eyes flicked wide, horrified. “Sithis, what if he has? Attack indiscriminately, make it look like the High Queen can't protect them, attack the Reach to knock out not only her allies and her kin by marriage but remove any halfway decent arcane-military expertise… shitting hell, Elisif, the Reach is next, I need to get back there…”

“Stay where you are,” Elisif said, gritting her teeth as one hand went to restrain Madanach. “I killed Alduin, I can handle Harkon the Bloody. Also, I don't think he factored in Serana here telling us his plans. Eola, are you able to get back to either Markarth or Deepwood and warn Kaie and Keirine? Or get one of the Companions to do it?”

Eola just smiled, petting Cicero gently, who was also preening himself.

“They already know,” Eola purred. “So does Delphine. Cicero had to take Athis to Hag's End for, er, treatment anyway, he also had the sense to tell Auntie Keirine what he'd seen at Harkon's castle. And Kaie was there at the time, she's already putting the ReachGuard on alert, including moving forces north, and Del's putting eyes on the castle. Harkon is not going to take us unawares, not now. I don't think he realised the Cicero who came to his castle and who was allowed to skip away freely is the same Cicero associated with Reach-Princess Eola and the High Queen's court.”

“Also Cicero wasn't wearing the hat,” Cicero added, still grinning. “No one recognises Cicero without the hat.”

“And we do keep him out of the limelight, it must be said,” Madanach said thoughtfully. “All right, I'll write to Kaie and Keirine both, find out what's happening. Elisif, you're going to need to let me know what Skyrim's response is going to be. Surely there's angry, bereaved Nords itching for a fight out there.”

“Yes, although getting the Jarls to actually release troops will be a problem,” Elisif said, brooding. “Wait, never mind, I have an idea. I'll have people make the announcement publicly before the Jarl and pin signs up in the taverns calling for true Nords who want to help me save Skyrim again to join a muster point – I think I'm going to need Argis for this, aren't I?”

“Very likely,” Madanach grinned. “Should I fetch him?”

“Don't bother, if I know him and Lydia, they're likely listening in anyway,” Elisif sighed. “All right, I'm likely going to have more questions later on the layout of this castle but that can all wait until you've had a chance to rest – what is it, Athis?”

“Begging your pardon, High Queen,” Athis said, getting to his feet and bowing. “But Harkon's ultimate aim is to be able to put out the sun. We've got a lead on how, but, er, we need your help. Don't we, Eola?”

“I knew it,” Madanach sighed and Elisif raised an eyebrow, but she motioned for Eola to speak. So Eola, with frequent interruptions and not all from Cicero either, explained about the Elder Scroll buried with Serana, and how they'd found a Moth Priest to read it, but it had said two other scrolls were needed for the complete prophecy.

“And we think one of them is your Elder Scroll,” Eola finished. “You know, the one you brought back from Blackreach. We were wondering if we could, you know, borrow it.”

“Borrow it,” Elisif said, clearly not pleased about this at all. “My Elder Scroll. That is now with the College of Winterhold for posterity, secured by spells, charms and locks so cunning even highly skilled thieves failed to get in. Karliah took one look and refused to try. And you want me to just write to Archmage Ervine and get her to let you take it away.”

Hopeful nod from Eola, who was also turning hopeful eyes on her father.

“Auriel's Bow could be really useful!” Eola said, hoping they'd buy it. “Especially if it really can put out the sun! We wouldn't want it falling into enemy hands, would we?”

“Cicero could look after it!” Cicero chirped up and Madanach's lips actually pulled back in a snarl.

“Elisif, say no,” Madanach growled. “If it really is this dangerous, he's the last person-”

“But at least we'd know who had it and where it was,” Elisif said thoughtfully. “Very well, I'll make arrangements to secure the Scroll and have it brought to this Moth Priest – he's with Delphine, is he? But the College will want it back after, and once you have the prophecy, I want a full report on the bow's location and capabilities. I don't suppose you know where the other Scroll is, do you?”

Eola exchanged looks with the others and offered a tentative shrug.

“Maybe?” Eola said. “Serana has a sort of lead, but it may come to nothing. It's all we have though.”

“It involves finding my mother,” Serana admitted. “She left my father ages ago, took his other Elder Scroll with her. We think that's the Scroll we need. We have an idea where to start looking… but it's dangerous.”

“It involves sneaking into the back end of Castle Volkihar and finding Serana's mother's secret hideaway!” Cicero chirped, apparently heedless of Athis facepalming and the filthy look Eola was giving him.

“What,” Madanach said, eyes boring into Cicero. “You honestly think THAT is a good idea?? What if it's some sort of trap? You could be killed!”

“I can take care of myself!” Eola protested. “I'm taking these two, if it is, we have ways out! Elisif, tell him!”

“This sounds really dangerous,” Elisif said, pursing her lips. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“No!” Madanach snapped, eliciting an exasperated cry from Eola. Mercifully, Maia picked up on her father's wrath as well and promptly starting fussing, and that at least distracted Madanach. With him comforting a small child and walking her up and down the bedroom while murmuring he was very sorry she was never going to know her insane older sister properly, he'd be sure to tell her all about her when she got older, Elisif at least was free to interrogate Eola and Serana.

“You think Valerica will help, if you can even find her?” Elisif said quietly. “What if she never survived either?”

“She's an immortal vampire, something would have had to kill her,” Serana said, feeling protective of her mother even if Valerica didn't really deserve it. “And she's not easy to kill. My father thinks she's still out there, he's scoured Tamriel for signs of her. He's never found her.”

“Maybe something else got to her first,” Elisif said, and Serana knew it was possible… but she couldn't bring herself to believe it. Her expression must have shown because Elisif immediately looked contrite.

“I'm sorry, Serana,” Elisif said softly. “But it's a possibility. If you don't find anything useful, we can't wait for Auriel's Bow to turn up. We need to plan the attack. Eight know his people have killed so many of us in the last few months. I'm not letting him continue. One way or another, we deal with this.”

One way or another, and Serana knew how this would end. With her own father dead, likely at Queen Elisif's hands. Serana almost hoped it would be Elisif. The alternative was Serana doing the deed herself… and Serana honestly didn't know if she could.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castle Volkihar proves as surprising and dangerous as they imagined... but the biggest surprise of all has nothing to do with vampires.

From the High Queen's court to Castle Volkihar. A journey of only a few hours but in the bitter cold of a Skyrim night in the north and while the vampires were fine, and even Cicero was coping better than he let on, Eola could wish for some sunshine. Or just no snow. Or ice wraiths. Fortunately, fireballs sorted out most of the problems there.

The Blades camp at Northwatch Keep was still there with some supplies for them, and word was the castle was quiet. Delphine's people had done a good job of intercepting vampire traffic in and out of the place, including some spiky arcane chalice one patrol had been carrying. Said chalice was now at Hag's End and apparently Matriarch Keirine had gone into ecstatic hysterics over it. A valuable vampire relic apparently.

Ralof had helped with the boat, and then they'd taken themselves over the Sea of Ghosts, beaching on the western side of the island. Stony beach, dead trees, forbidding cliffs – it was not a prepossessing sight. But they'd persevered, through tougher than expected skeletons, a feral vampire, death hounds, traps, Athis accidentally knocking Cicero off a walkway into a pool full of wooden spikes (Cicero was fine but had to have some splinters removed from somewhere… undignified), giant spiders… in a way, finding Valerica's old herb garden was something of a relief. It was quiet. Peaceful. Would have been nice once – before someone had torn down the part of the castle separating it from the main hall and left it to get abandoned and overgrown.

“May I take it this was your mother's baby,” Eola said, looking around. “Can't think of any other reason someone would have trashed an entire tower.”

“Yeah, that's my father's work,” Serana said, shaking her head sadly. “He must have wanted to destroy anything that reminded him of her. She used to love this place, used to grow herbs and flowers here, it was beautiful once. We used to come out here after dinner and tend it together. One of the few times I got to really spend time with her. It's...” Serana shook her head, turning away and sitting down on one of the stone benches, looking out at it in despair.

“She'd have hated to see it like this,” Serana said bitterly. Eola had few childhood memories of time with her own parents – her father had been in prison for most of it, and as for her mother… no happy memories there. But Eola loved her father and knew he wouldn't want to see his own life's work ruined either. He didn't have a garden but he did have a country.

So Eola took Serana's hand, saying nothing, the two of them sitting in companionable silence while Cicero explored and poked around, and Athis followed him, mainly to make sure he didn't break anything, but also actually smiling and laughing good-naturedly at Cicero's excited squeaking.

It was always something of a surprise to see her boys hanging around together without her. She'd sort of expected there to be awkwardness… but there wasn't. Somewhere along the line, Cicero and Athis had become friends, and when Cicero called Athis brother these days, he meant it.

It brought a lump to Eola's throat. Focus, she told herself. They had a mission, right?

“We'll find her,” Eola told her. “We'll find your ma, and maybe one day soon she'll be able to come home.”

“Yeah,” Serana said softly. “Maybe.” But Serana looked out at the garden, or what was left of it, sadness in her eyes, and she didn't need to say that even if her mother could come back, seeing it like this would likely break her heart.

Meanwhile over by the moondial, Cicero and Athis had been poking at it, Cicero jumping around and cooing over the shiny moon crests, at least until he'd got bored of it and gone to have a look at other things… including something gleaming away in the nightshade.

He'd ended up tracking down not one but three moon crests lying around in the undergrowth, showing them to Athis with some excitement, and Athis had grinned and told him to see if they fitted the moondial.

“They do, they do, look brother, look, they fit, they do - eeeeek!” Cicero only just scrambled off the moondial in time as it started moving, running to Athis's side and clinging to him as the moondial rotated, revealing a spiral staircase leading down.

“By the Reclamations,” Athis whispered, waving frantically at the two women who'd started on hearing the grinding stone. “Eola! Serana! Get over here! We found something!”

Eola and Serana exchanged looks and ran over to see what he'd found. Athis was staring at the stairs while Cicero was clasping his hands and bouncing excitedly.

“Look, look, Eola, look!” Cicero cooed. “We found a hidden passage! I wonder where it goes.”

“No idea, but well done!” Eola said, smiling as she gave him a cuddle. Cicero was so easily pleased sometimes. It always made Eola smile. After all the hardship she'd had in her life, having him around was nothing short of a blessing. A handful he sometimes was, but he was a handful she'd come to rely on and she loved him just the way he was.

“Clever Mother,” Serana whispered, amazed. “I had no idea this was even here!”

“So you have no idea where it goes either,” Athis said, and Serana shook her head, grinning.

“No,” Serana said, looking delighted at actually having found something. “Which means my father won't know it's here either. Which means if she did leave something here, this is where it'll be. Come on, let's see what's down here!”

Eola glanced over at the two men, and while Cicero's grin was expected, Athis's wasn't. And yet there he was, looking every bit as pleased as Cicero.

Eola's eyes met his, and Eola felt a sudden urge to kiss him. Hard. She wasn't entirely sure he wasn't feeling the same, and if Serana hadn't been calling for them to follow, and Cicero hadn't been tugging at her arm, she might just have done it.

But they had no time to linger and so Eola ran after Cicero, Athis at her heels, keen to see what did lie beneath. One thing was clear – you didn't go to all that trouble to hide something unless finding it would have consequences. Eola didn't know how right she was.

~~~~~~~~~~~ 

More tunnels. Skeletons. Gargoyles. Undead guardians all over the place, that would likely have ignored Valerica, but leapt out on the four of them without hesitating. Fireballs, Eola found. Fireballs helped. As long as you fired them first, before Athis and Cicero had closed with the opposition anyway.

The passage finally ended in a room with no less than three gargoyles who all attacked at once, and the resulting fight involved fireballs, reanimated gargoyles, Cicero grabbing Molag Bal's mace off Eola's belt to bludgeon them to death after it turned out his daggers weren't cutting it, and Athis discovering the joy of vampiric blood magic.

Afterwards all four of them sat on the steps, surveying the scene.

“Well!” Cicero said breathlessly. “That was exciting!”

“Yeah,” Serana said, glancing around at the room with only the one exit, the one they'd come in by. “But now where? This is just a study, and we already searched all the other bits we had access to. This can't be it.”

“We haven't searched this room yet,” Eola said, looking around. Cupboards, a fireplace, there must be something, right? “Cicero, have a look round, poke everything, see what you can find.” He'd sorted out the moondial, right? If there was anything hidden in here, Cicero would likely find it.

Cicero giggled and started by poking Eola. Then Athis. Then running off giggling before either could tell him off.

“But pretty Eola said to poke everything!” Cicero trilled, grinning back from a safe distance.

“Not us!” Athis snapped. “Find something useful!”

“You two are useful!” Cicero pouted, scampering back over and cuddling up to Athis, who just growled and patted Cicero on the back.

“Find. Something,” Athis growled, getting to his feet. “Here, I'll give you a hand if you like.”

Cicero squeaked even more and bounced off with Athis to keep him company, leaving Serana watching him and frowning.

“Am I not useful then?” Serana said, relieved to not have been poked but at the same time now feeling a bit left out.

Eola patted her hand, not sure whether the truth would be welcome or not but having little choice other than to go with it.

“Sure you are!” she told her. “I just think he thought it might bother you. I mean, more than anyone else. He's got some standards.”

Serana raised both eyebrows and turned to look at Cicero, presently rooting around in a cupboard and producing a set of Royal Volkihar armour like hers and presenting it to Athis, exclaiming he should wear it, he'd look very handsome. So Athis took it and vanished behind a bookcase to get changed. Cicero turned and grinned at both women.

Serana waved back, smiling at Cicero who bowed and then wandered off to have a look at the fireplace. Serana watched before turning back to Eola.

“So how'd he get like that anyway?” Serana asked, finally feeling it was probably OK to ask about Cicero's… oddness by this point. “I can't help but notice he's a little bit… different.”

Eola actually laughed. A tactful way of putting it, but Eola found she didn't mind talking to Serana about this.

“Yeah, he is that,” Eola sighed. “Most of this is his story to tell, but he was part of this organisation back in Cyrodiil. They weren't mages or anything, but there was this occult power at the heart of it that Cicero ended up tending to after civil war or something like it wrecked the previous sanctuary. But the occult power was damaged. It didn't talk any more and they all thought their god abandoned them. So they all left, all except Cicero who was left tending this source that didn't even work. He… he was on his own for years, literally years. It… damaged him. He has these journals from back then, and let me read them, it was kind of heartbreaking just to see him slowly changing. Eventually he ended up as what he is now. And then he came north to Skyrim because there was another cell of his order still here and he thought they might help. But they didn't. They kicked him out, he ran away, ran into a fugitive High Queen, teamed up with her and now his old order are gone and he's with me now. And he's OK. He's not perfect. But he's OK and he's happy and everyone at Jorrvaskr looks after him and I make sure he gets out and about and has a regular supply of Things to Stab. So even if he's a little bit odd, he's OK, you know?”

Eola was aware of how defensive she sounded but she couldn't help it. She worried about Cicero anyway. But high-maintenance as he was, she liked having him around. No one else could cook like he could, or bake those little fondant fancies she liked.

“He seems it,” Serana said, eyeing him carefully. “Years of solitary, you say? Poor thing. No wonder he's so, well, friendly. He must be terrified of being alone.”

It wasn't exactly something Cicero was fond of, it was true. He could of course do solo missions, and often did. But he liked knowing there was a home and family to come back to, even if it wasn't his blood family, not any more. But Eola had promised to love him, now and forever. She'd do her best to try and provide him with the family he'd lost.

Cicero chose that moment to squeal as he turned a candlestick which turned out to actually be a lever that opened a secret passage.

“Hey, did he find something?” Serana gasped. “I didn't think he actually would!”

Eola felt rather proud of her little fool.

“He is full of surprises,” Eola smirked as she scrambled up. “Didn't I tell you he'd find something? Come on, let's see where this goes!”

Serana got up and followed, keen to see what her mother had hidden away this time. This had to have a clue as to where she'd gone. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Whatever they'd been expecting, it wasn't the huge magical research laboratory that could put Hag's End to shame.

“Wow,” Eola breathed. “Look at this, if Auntie Keirine were here, she might actually cry from jealousy!”

“Hagravens can cry?” Serana asked, having met Keirine and been unsure whether to attack, flee or just be grateful there was a family and indeed society out there more messed up than her own. She'd gone for the third option. Hags were notorious for their fireballs.

“I don't know, but she'd want this,” Eola said, gazing at it all in amazement. “I mean, look at it – the alchemy lab, enchanting table, all the rare reagents, the library – are those dragon bones over there??”

“They might well be,” Serana said, staring at it all. “Gods, look at it, I had no idea this was even here!”

“Your mother never told you about it?” Eola asked, following Serana over to the central… feature. Some sort of circular structure not dissimilar to the tomb Serana had been trapped in. A bit like a Hag's altar in atmosphere but not in function. It was the focal point, no doubt about it, but what did it do?

“Not a word,” Serana said quietly. “I've got no idea what she was doing here. Well, looking for some way to bring my father down, but what were her plans? She must have kept a journal somewhere, or notes at least.”

“On it!” Athis called, already going through the various books stacked up on the shelves in the corner, while Cicero was already inspecting the alchemy supplies. Somewhere along the line he'd picked up an interest in the subject – mostly brewing deadly poisons although he did do a mean healing potion as well.  
Eola had a feeling Valerica's laboratory would soon be missing an awful lot of alchemy ingredients. Fortunately Serana didn't seem to mind, staring down at the focal point.

“What is it,” Eola said softly. “Do you think it's the door way to the next part of the castle? Has your ma stored the Scroll there, do you think?”

“Maybe?” Serana said dubiously. “I don't think it'll be as simple as all that though.”

Was it ever? But Athis had found something and was making his way over, a journal in hand.

“Found it,” Athis said, holding it out. “It's talking about Harkon being obsessed, Valerica being furious with him, enacting plans to get you to Dimhollow, and a way of reaching something called the Soul Cairn.”

All eyes turned to the portal below them, and Eola hastily stepped away from it. Cicero also came sidling down the stairs, curious to see what they'd found.

“Let me see that,” Serana said sharply, taking the journal and reading. “The Soul Cairn… seriously? She went there? Mother, you fool… she always warned me about that place!”

Eola was nodding, clearly having also heard several warnings about it from one of the many necromancers in her own family, but Cicero and Athis were both looking at each other, by this point very confused.

“What is the Soul Cairn, lovely Eola?” Cicero whispered, cuddling up to Eola. “Cicero has not heard of it...”

“Ma mentioned it a few times,” Eola said quietly. “And Keirine told me more. You know how if you soul trap someone, you can use their soul for an enchantment? Well, when you've used it, it doesn't get used up. Keirine reckons they go somewhere – to a place called the Soul Cairn.”

“And you think Valerica went there??” Athis said, appalled. “In Azura's name, why?”

“It looks like she was trafficking in souls with the Ideal Masters,” Serana said, eyes not leaving the journal. “I think… yes, I think she was trying to make a deal with them for sanctuary in the Cairn. To get away from Father.”

“Well, he'd never find her there,” Eola said softly. “But that's a desperate act. Auntie always told me never to trust the Ideal Masters, and I lost count of the number of times Ma threatened to sacrifice me to them as a kid.” She noticed the sudden appalled looks that the others were giving her, especially Serana, which was a bit rich seeing as her parents actually had sacrificed her to Molag Bal. 

“She locked Serana away to keep her safe,” Athis said at length, breaking the awkward silence. “She must have been desperate.”

But to turn to the notoriously deceptive Ideal Masters for help… that never ended well.

“So we think she is in this Soul Cairn with the Scroll,” Cicero said, peering at the journal. “How do we find her?”

Serana flipped a page and smiled as she came across a list of ingredients. “Here we go… you need to mix these somehow – purified Void Salts, finely ground bone meal, pulverised Soul Gem fragments...”

“Cicero has seen those!” Cicero squeaked. “Cicero shall find them, wait here!” And off he scampered to round everything up. Serana however still didn't look happy.

“Something wrong?” Eola asked, sensing Serana wasn't saying everything. Serana nodded unhappily.

“Yeah. There's another ingredient. Her blood. Which, if we could get that… we wouldn't need to be doing this in the first place.”

Bloody fucking hell. Using one's own blood to bind the mixture to you… but Eola knew her blood magic, and the thing about blood was that it wasn't just yours. Your kin's blood was similar.

“You have her blood,” Eola and Athis both said at the same time, and Eola looked and stared at him, just as he stared back, both apparently not having expected the other to come out with that, and then Athis laughed, glancing away.

“Should have known you'd realise that too,” he admitted.

“Surprised you did,” Eola said, raising an eyebrow. “You into blood magic then?”

“I'm a Dunmer,” Athis said, shrugging. “There's barely a Dunmer family of any standing that doesn't have ancestor relics tucked away somewhere and a few rituals involving using the blood of a descendant to ensure the link stays strong. Like this portal seal of Valerica's maybe? An ancestor might use their blood to seal something, but often they might intend for their descendants to be able to open it in time of need.”

“Now's a time of need all right,” Serana sighed. “All right, it's worth a try. Better stand back when we do this though. I don't know what's going to happen.”

And so they gathered by the ledge overlooking the portal, Cicero having already added the ingredients to the brazier, and now all three were standing back, watching as Serana sliced her wrist open and let Volkihar blood drop in.

The result was immediate as the entire room lit up, the floor rotating and dropping into a chasm of some sort, steps leading down to a portal, glowing with an unearthly light that didn't actually dispel shadows.

“Well, it worked,” Athis said with forced cheerfulness. “Shall we see where it goes?”

Nowhere good, Eola was sure. But Cicero had inherited his Nord father's bravery if not his distaste for the occult, and was already bouncing down the steps eagerly. At least until he got into the light proper and promptly began shivering.

“Eola??” Cicero wailed, and his skin had gone a very peculiar colour and he began to shake all over. “Eola, I don't like it, Eola, help me, EOLAAAA!!!!!”

“Cicero??” Eola cried, not having heard him scream like that in a long time, if ever. “CICERO!”

Athis promptly dashed past her, sprinting down the steps and, apparently unaffected by whatever was happening to Cicero, grabbed him and hauled him out of there, Cicero clinging on to Athis all the while and eventually collapsing at Eola's feet. 

Eola dropped down next to him and cuddled him as soon as he was safe, not liking how cold his skin felt at all. 

“Athis, get him a potion,” Eola told him, all the while casting healing magic on him. It took a few minutes but Cicero was soon looking a bit healthier – not nearly so pale at any rate.

“Are you all right?” Eola whispered, stroking his cheek. Cicero nodded, cutting a very pitiful figure indeed.

“That was not nice, sweetling!” Cicero sniffled. “It felt like something was sucking the life out of poor Cicero! Cicero didn't like it!”

“What was it?” Athis said, sitting behind Cicero and rubbing his back. “Serana? And… why was it affecting Cicero and not me? I felt a bit cold but it didn't do me any harm.”

“I feared this might happen,” Serana sighed, face in shadows apart from her glowing vampire eyes. “It's the Soul Cairn. It's always hungry for souls… for life. Vampires are already dead so it leaves us alone, but if someone living tries to cross over… it starts to feed on them.”

Cicero whimpered, clinging on to Eola in terror. Serana tried to sound reassuring, but honestly, it wasn't great news.

“Don't worry, Athis got him in time, Cicero's not suffered any lasting damage,” Serana told him. “But… unless I turn you both into vampires, I think you're going to have to stay behind.”

No reaction from either Cicero or Eola, other than the two turning to look at each other rather nervously.

“We would be undead creatures of the night,” Cicero murmured. “Forced to drink the blood of others to survive.”

Actual laughter from Eola. “Not that different then. And we could get the Reach's blood programme to support us, you know Da would be OK with that.”

“Would he,” Cicero said, frowning and staring at her. “Cicero is not so sure. Cicero thinks it might upset him.”

A pause from Eola, who was about to argue the point, and then it occurred to her, no, her elderly father might not want his baby princess to turn into a vampire, he wasn't exactly comfortable with his sister being a Hagraven, although he'd certainly made good political use of it.

“And we'd lose our beast blood as well,” Eola sighed. “Aela'd kill us. Damn.” She looked up at Serana, gritting her teeth. “Any other options?”

“Well, there is one...” Serana said, and her face said it all about what sort of option it was. “Only you're not going to like it.”

“Figures,” Eola said wearily, already having an idea where this might be going. “What is it?”

“The Soul Cairn wants souls, so we give it one,” Serana said. “Yours.”

Cicero said nothing, just blinking at Serana as if not entirely sure he'd heard her correctly, Eola mentally cursed her luck as her worst fears were confirmed… and Athis lost patience.

“What??” Athis snapped. “You can't soul trap someone, it kills them! And if they end up in the Soul Cairn… no, absolutely not.”

“Well, I never said I'd trap their entire soul!” Serana cried. “Look, I can partially soul trap them and offer that to the Ideal Masters, and then they can come in. It'll make them a bit weaker, but they should be able to cross the barrier. And we might be able to fix that on the other side… maybe. If we can find Mother, she can probably help.”

“There are a lot of ifs, maybes and probablies in that sentence,” Athis said, pursing his lips. “I really don't like this.”

“Thankfully, it's not you living with it,” Eola said, getting up and helping Cicero to his feet. “I guess we don't have much option. If we can find where our pieces of souls went once we're over there, we can get back out again with them, but I recommend finding Valerica and the Scroll first. I don't think the Ideal Masters will appreciate being cheated of their due.”

Cicero nodded too, clearly unwilling to abandon Eola to this, and Athis gave in. He couldn't tell her what to do, never could. 

And so Serana began the initial magical scan intended to find the fault-lines and weaknesses in a soul so as to prise off a loose bit rather than damage it further (and given murdering a sentient being is one of the surest ways to fracture a soul, both Cicero and Eola had a lot of loose soul bits). Cicero's was soon complete, and then Serana started Eola's… and stopped. 

“What?” Eola said, not liking the look in Serana's eyes. “What's wrong? What did you find??”

“That's weird,” Serana said, frowning. “You've got extra souls. A bit like spirit possession but not… because that's usually in the head, but this is much further down in your abdomen. They're right here, two of them, but they're really small and unformed. I've not seen anything like it before.”

“Oh,” Eola whispered, feeling a bit faint and dizzy, and then she had to sit down very very quickly as several things became apparent at once: that somehow, certain potions hadn't done their job, and then the horrified remembrance of Keirine sternly telling her the potions had expiry dates and to ensure she ordered a fresh batch in time next time, and that it had been a while since she'd last had to put up with a monthly bleeding and…

Eola felt like she was going to be ill. Parenthood??? TWINS??? Cicero was already sitting by her side fretting and fussing and Athis… Eola looked up and saw that while Cicero seemed not to have worked it out yet, Athis clearly had. He knelt on her other side, taking her hand.

“I'm not going anywhere,” Athis said quietly. “Even if they're Cicero's. For as long as you need me, I'm here.”

“Even if what is Cicero's?” Cicero demanded, before he stared at Eola's belly and it finally dawned on him. 

Cicero's eyes widened, face going pale, he looked up at Eola and stared at her in horror… and then promptly fainted.

“Oh gods,” Eola whispered, tears in her eyes, because they'd never discussed it, not really, both agreeing they were fine without kids, and Cicero had been assiduously taking potions as well, up until it turned out the male ones gave werewolves… side effects. Specifically, body hair, so much body hair that it was growing on Cicero's back and shoulders, and his cheeks were raw from frantic shaving three times a day, and in the end Eola had told him to come off the potions. He'd cried from relief afterwards. Other men might not have minded, just grown a beard and been done with it, but Cicero wasn't most men, was he, and the thought of growing fur upset him. And now here he was, likely going to be a father because Athis had been on them as well, he'd not had to stop. Unexpectedly, with no warning whatsoever, and likely when he came round, he'd freak out.

_I just lost Cicero, or I lose my kids._ Neither option appealed and that was when Eola realised that, scared though she was, part of her sort of wanted to, or at least would protect her kids to the death.

Serana was at Cicero's side, gently helping him up, although she still looked confused.

“What's going on?” she whispered. “Why did Cicero just pass out?”

“I might be pregnant,” Eola manage to say. “I need to speak to my aunt or a priest or… but we always said we weren't having kids! Cicero never wanted them!”

Cicero had just opened his eyes, heard this and promptly whimpered, curling up into a little ball.

“Oh Sithis,” he whispered, closing his eyes again. 

“Oh,” Serana whispered, stroking Cicero's back. “I mean, oh! But… I mean, I could work with that. There's two, so one each, I could use them!”

“No!” Eola and Athis both cried, and even Cicero twitched.

“But...” Serana gave up arguing, besides it occurred to her some people actually cared about their children, and it appeared Eola and Athis at least were among that group. “OK. But that means Eola needs to stay behind, because I have no idea what going into the Soul Cairn is going to do to a pregnant woman. She might… the Ideal Masters might take those souls anyway.”

“Fuck that,” Eola snapped, and Athis squeezed her hand. 

“Quite,” Athis said, approving, before glaring at Cicero. “And you? What are you doing? Apart from failing completely at being supportive?”

“SHUT UP BROTHER, CICERO'S LIFE HAS JUST BEEN UP-ENDED, YOU COULD SHOW SOME SYMPATHY!” Cicero raged at him, before calming down and appearing to regain some semblance of control.

Athis was about to say something but Eola beat him to it.

“FUCK RIGHT OFF CICERO, YOU'RE NOT THE PREGNANT ONE!” Eola roared at him, and Cicero flinched back, before looking at Eola, the very picture of misery.

“Sweetling?” Cicero whispered tearfully. “Pretty Eola?”

“Just go,” Eola whispered, suddenly no longer sure of anything. “Serana, do the soul trap thing on him, take him with you. Athis, you should go too. I'll wait here.”

“Will you be all right?” Athis whispered, getting up but his eyes not leaving her. Eola nodded, smiling a little despite the tears in her eyes.

“I think so,” Eola whispered. “Come back soon, yeah?”

“Always,” Athis murmured, kissing her on the lips, a kiss that soon got a little heated, at least until the high-pitched whining noises Cicero was making distracted them. He was staring at Eola looking absolutely heartbroken. Eola could barely bring herself to look at him. And Athis… he had no idea what happened now. But assuming Eola decided to stay pregnant, he'd take care of her. He had all the time in the world, he could afford to spend a couple of decades helping look after two human children. Cicero though, Cicero looked terrified. Well. Maybe he'd sort himself out in time. In the meantime, taking him to the Soul Cairn and letting him have at whatever they found there would help, right?

It might. And the fact that Cicero looked so desperately unhappy might be a good thing. It meant he might not leave just yet.

And so Cicero submitted to the soul trap treatment, and the three of them made their way into the Soul Cairn. Maybe everything was about to change but they had a job to do. That at least hadn't changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, thought I'd reshuffle the relationships AGAIN. We'll see how Cicero copes with the idea. Either very well or very badly, I suspect.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Serana confronts her mother and finally exorcises a few old ghosts... but no one was expecting Cicero to do the same with his father's legacy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there's kind of two story threads in this one - first the Dawnguard questline. But there's also the tail end of the Companions questline, which never happened in WQA, but has since occurred before this one started... but the full events were never revealed. Until now.

The Soul Cairn turned out to be as depressing as expected. It was a blasted landscape, with withered trees, collapsed ruins, gothic towers, lightning studding a mottled black sky, the souls of the damned roaming the place, and Cicero huddled up to Athis, whimpering a bit.

“It feels lonely,” Cicero whispered. “Lonely and too quiet and… Athis, do not leave me!”

“I won't,” Athis said quietly. “Come on. Let's not linger.”

Serana was already heading in the direction of a large citadel on the horizon, and so the two men followed, both glancing nervously around, which was useful when the undead turned up. Black skeleton archers – not difficult to kill, but all the same, to be watched. Nevertheless, they weren't the real obstacle. The real obstacle was Cicero trying to talk to each and every soul they met, wringing his hands over their fate and sympathising, and things finally came to a head when he met the soul of a warrior who'd lost his horse.

“Of course!” Cicero cried. “Of course I'll find Arvak for you! Wait here! Cicero shall be back!”

And so Cicero ran off, heedless of Serana and Athis calling after him, and they ended up chasing him halfway across the Soul Cairn, to where undead skeletal mages were hovering around a plinth with a horse's skull on it.

“DIE!!!!!” Cicero howled, daggers flicking out, and yes, he was taking on all six of them at once.

“I thought he was a stealth specialist!” Serana hissed at Athis as she starting flinging ice spikes. 

“He is,” Athis sighed. “Just sometimes he gets urges to wreak havoc. Also he once said to me that once stealth is broken, the fight is won by the one who fully commits to it, that you gain nothing by being fainthearted. So once they spot him, he just goes for it.”

“He's certainly going for it,” Serana had to admit. The fight was soon won, and then Cicero was scampering off with the skull, returning it to the grateful soul who'd been the horse's previous owner… and getting a conjuration spell for his trouble that meant he now had his very own glowing skeletal undead horse from Oblivion.

“Cicero has an Arvak!” Cicero announced proudly.

“Oh my god,” Serana muttered, and Athis just patted him on the back and led him off. Somewhere around here was Serana's mother. Time to find her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The big citadel seemed the best place to start. Cicero bounded up the stairs to the main entrance, and abruptly stopped, poking at the air and frowning.

“Serana?” Cicero called. “Serana! Serana, Cicero cannot get past, Cicero doesn't know what it is.” He pawed ineffectually at what turned out to be a magical barrier, but who'd put it there and how to open it was a mystery.

Serana came running up and quietly cursed at it. 

“It's unbreakable,” Serana hissed. “The foci for it must be somewhere else… wait. Mother?”

Movement in the shadows, and on the other side of the barrier, a woman glided into view, dressed in armour like Serana's, pale skin, glowing eyes, dark hair in buns and a severe expression on a face which had been that of a forty-something matron when she'd been turned. Valerica Volkihar.

“Serana?” she cried, eyes widening as she made her way forward. “Is that you? What are – what are you doing here??”

“Mother!” Serana cried, hands pressed to the barrier, face close to the barrier, childish delight on her face – but Valerica's expression was furious. “We came to find you!”

“You stupid child!” Valerica cried. “You were supposed to remain in Dimhollow, for your own safety!”

“I was!” Serana protested. “Then these two rescued me!”

Cicero waved cheerfully, beaming at Valerica, who visibly shuddered. She barely spared Athis a second glance.

“That one is a victim of Sanguinare Vampiris, and the other one is clearly a halfwit. Why either is in the company of my daughter, I dread to think.” She stared Serana down, clearly still furious. “Did you tell them nothing?”

“Mother!” Serana cried, visibly hurt. “Mother, please, we need your help! We came all this way to find you!”

“Cicero gave up part of his soul to come here!” Cicero added, starting to frown himself. “We went to a lot of trouble! You are Serana's mama, you should not be so cruel to her when you have not seen her in so long!”

Valerica growled, before rounding on Cicero.

“And who are you to interfere??” Valerica snapped, advancing on him, and Cicero took a step back, hiding behind Athis and whimpering. “You, a human of no particular note or intelligence, and a vampire of impure blood, in the company of _my_ daughter? Serana has sacrificed _everything_ to stop Harkon bringing the prophecy to fruition! I would have _expected_ her to explain that to you!”

“She explained how you and your husband sacrificed her to Molag Bal!” Athis snapped, losing his temper… and Valerica's face twisted into a snarl.

“You. Know. _Nothing!_ ” Valerica hissed, her face briefly twisting into something not far off Keirine's unmasked face, before calm reasserted itself and the vampire withdrew.

“Tradition dictates that the females in our family would be offered to Molag Bal on his summoning day. It was an honour to be selected.”

“IT IS NOT AN HONOUR, IT IS APPALLING!” Cicero shouted, brave enough to peep out from behind Athis. “MAMAS AND PAPAS SHOULD NOT SACRIFICE THEIR BABIES TO THE DAEDRA!!!”

Lightning flashed through the sky, and Cicero squeaked, hiding behind Athis as the thunder deafened him and stole his bravery.

Valerica barely moved, staring impassively at them both in the lurid purple light, expression barely changing.

“It was expected of her as it was expected of me,” Valerica said stiffly. “And I do _not_ have to stand here discussing _our_ family history with the likes of you! Serana.” She turned back to her daughter, who'd been watching all this with something like horror on her face. 

“I need hardly remind you of the danger, surely,” Valerica snapped at Serana. “Every moment one of us walks in Tamriel puts the world in that bit more danger. Serana, for all our sakes, go-”

“No,” Serana whispered, and both Cicero and Athis realised simultaneously that that wasn't fear in her voice or sadness or anything so harmless. Serana was _furious_.

“Serana?” Valerica gasped, amazed, and both men realised that if they hadn't seen Serana angry before, Valerica probably never had. Serana had probably never stood up to her mother before in her life.

“You never bothered asking me if I wanted to be shut away from everything I cared about!” Serana shouted, her own face starting to shift into a monster's. “You just assumed I'd go along with it, like always! You and Father, you're as bad as each other! Maybe he was obsessed with the prophecy but you were just as obsessed with hurting him! Neither of you ever stopped to think about how I felt! He was still my father! I loved him once! Why can't you understand how that made me feel?”

Blood-stained tears were rolling down Serana's face but she barely seemed to notice. Valerica had though and she was reaching out, fingers brushing the barrier even as Valerica's face looked on, stricken.

“Serana,” Valerica whispered but Serana was past caring.

“These two have done more for me in the few weeks I've known them than you have in centuries,” Serana whispered. “And we'll find Auriel's Bow, with or without your help! Come on, Cicero, Athis, we're going.” And with that Serana turned to leave, cape fluttering behind her.

Valerica gasped, staring at her daughter's retreating back, then turned to stare helplessly at Cicero and Athis, neither of whom were remotely equipped to help solve familial problems.

“This might be the point at which you tell her you were wrong,” Athis said, nodding at Serana, and Cicero nodded enthusiastically.

“Grovelling has always worked for poor Cicero,” Cicero added, helpful as ever. Valerica sighed and gave in, admitting defeat.

“Serana, wait!” Valerica cried. “Don't go! I'm sorry!”

Serana stopped, hesitated, then turned, slowly approaching, still wary.

“Sorry for what?” Serana said, guarded. Valerica stared at her feet, and when she next spoke, she sounded utterly unlike the commanding matriarch she'd been before.

“I didn't know that was how you felt,” Valerica said quietly. “I… am sorry. I didn't have any better ideas. I shouldn't have treated you that way.”

Serana stared back, not sure how to react, glancing nervously at Cicero and Athis. Athis nodded back at her while Cicero beamed and gave her a thumbs up. Serana sighed and turned back to her mother.

“Um… thanks,” Serana said quietly. “I mean… I don't know if we can actually ever be a family again. Maybe that's not for us. But I don't want to be a pawn any more. I need to be able to do my own thing for once.”

“I understand,” Valerica said quietly. “If you think these two are trustworthy… and sufficient protection against Harkon.” She still didn't look like she entirely believed that was the case, but Cicero kept smiling anyway.

“They've got friends in high places,” Serana told her mother, actually smiling. “Turns out they know the High Queen of Skyrim. She's putting an army together to march on the castle.”

Valerica looked like she was about to faint.

“The castle… an army of mortals… then the court is lost. There are too many of them. They will destroy us! This is what I never wanted to happen!” She looked distraught.

“It's not like that!” Serana cried. “She's not going to declare war on all vampires. She just wants to stop Harkon because he's attacking her people.”

“So she says,” Valerica said scornfully. “And will it stop there? Or, once Harkon is overthrown, will she proceed to exterminate all our kind?”

Serana opened her mouth to speak until she remembered Isran and his Dawnguard, and realised, no, they weren't as safe as all that, Isran wouldn't stop until all vampires were dead… Serana began to wonder if she'd done the right thing, and then Athis spoke up.

“Of course she won't. Elisif's reasonable. She didn't stab me on sight, or Serana neither. She told Isran of the Dawnguard to get his hide out of the Blue Palace and spoke to us in her own private chambers with her little girl in the same room. She's not gonna start murdering law-abiding vampires. Not when she married the King of the Reach. The man legalised vampirism, set up a register and a blood service so they don't have to feed on people.”

“ _That_ will make it easier to round us all up when the time is right,” Valerica said bitterly, then she realised who he'd referred to. “Wait, those barbarians have a king??”

“King Madanach!” Cicero cooed. “He's very nice and very frightening! Cicero married his daughter, you know.”

“Married his...” Valerica looked Cicero up and down, disbelieving. “I see. Well, he is a barbarian hill warrior, I suppose. I suppose that thin hope of safety will have to do. Well now, I suppose you are after the Elder Scroll I brought with me, in hopes of uncovering the rest of the prophecy. You seek Auriel's Bow – yes, that would make sense. But you don't know what was in my scroll. You don't know that the key to the Tyranny of the Sun is Serana herself.”

“Serana herself?” Athis said, frowning at Serana, who was looking alarmed.

“The Blood of Coldharbour's Daughter will blind the eye of the Dragon,” Valerica intoned quietly. “Daughters of Coldharbour, pure-blooded vampires who have been through the ritual to Molag Bal. Serana and I among them. A blood sacrifice of one of us, Auriel's Bow – if this were to be done, it could put out the sun permanently. And here you are, tracking down the bow and delivering Serana right to him.”

“No!” Serana cried.

“We would never!” Cicero cried. “Cicero doesn't want the sun put out!”

“And you, vampire,” Valerica sniffed at Athis. “Don't tell me you wouldn't want eternal night.”

“Of course I wouldn't!” Athis shouted. “I'm a bloody Companion of Jorrvaskr, I'm going to be a father, I don't want my kids never knowing sunlight!”

“ _You're_ a Companion?” Valerica said, surprised. “By the gods, their standards have fallen. An elven vampire? Good gods. All the same, Jorrvaskr – they were honourable if nothing else. Very well. Give me your sworn word as a Companion that neither you nor Cicero will betray Serana or me to Harkon.”

“I swear it,” Athis promised. Valerica stared into his eyes for a few seconds and then nodded.

“All right. You can have my Scroll. It's here, in this courtyard behind me. However, there is a problem. You have seen this barrier.”

“Yes, did you raise it?” Serana asked, reaching out to touch it. “Can you lower it?”

“Lower it?” Valerica laughed mirthlessly. “Hardly. I never raised it. When I came here, I intended to strike a bargain with the Ideal Masters – a supply of souls in return for sanctuary. Had I foreseen the value they would place on my own, I never would have come here.”

“They've trapped you here!” Serana gasped. Valerica nodded.

“I'm afraid so,” Valerica said grimly. “I fled here and they imprisoned me. And now we sit here, waiting, to see who will give in first. Time has very little meaning to me, therefore it has very little meaning to the Ideal Masters either.”

“How do we get you out of here,” Serana said, hands pressed against the barrier as she glared at it. Alas, Serana's rage alone wasn't enough to bring it down.

“Find the Boneyard Keepers,” Valerica told her. “You'll find them in those towers – there's three of them. Kill them, the barrier falls. But beware, there's a dragon, Durnehviir, who guards this prison. When the barrier falls, he'll be sure to investigate.”

“Dragons?? Here?” Athis muttered. “Bloody hell.”

“Oh, do not worry, Cicero will deal with it,” Cicero cooed, looking far too confident for Athis's liking. “Cicero has killed dragons before!”

Yes, with half the Companions and a Dragonborn Queen and her guards to back him up. But nevertheless, he was a good shot with a bow. This might not go quite so terribly wrong. Might not.

“Oh, and Serana,” Valerica was saying to her daughter. “Good luck, my dear.”

“Thank you,” Serana whispered, before calling for Cicero and Athis to follow after her. Time to kill some Keepers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Serana got about five hundred feet away from the prison before her knees gave out and she collapsed on the Soul Cairn's black dirt floor.

Athis was by her side in seconds, and Cicero was cooing over her too.

“Are you all right?” Athis asked. Serana nodded, but she looked exhausted.

“I think so. I mean, I will be. Just… give me a minute. I mean… gods, did I just do that??”

“Yes!” Cicero squealed. “You did, you did! You stood up to your mother, you told her off! Cicero is so proud of you!” Cicero even gave Serana a hug before remembering and letting her go… but to his surprise, Serana actually smiled at him and put an arm around him.

“Thank you,” Serana said quietly. “Both of you. I – I don't think I could have done this without you.” Then she was hugging Athis as well, smiling and laughing, and both men hugged her back, glad to see Serana finally smiling at last.

“I think it's gonna be OK,” Serana said softly. “I mean… there's still Father. And he's never going to admit he was wrong. I – I think we're still going to have to kill him.”

“Sorry,” Athis said quietly at the same time as Cicero cheerfully said “Yes! We will!”

Pointed looks from Serana and Athis and Cicero quietly coughed and had the grace to look a bit ashamed of himself.

“I mean… er… Lord Harkon is a very bad man, Serana!” Cicero said gently, patting her arm. “If he does not come along quietly – and we all know it is very unlikely – it will be necessary to-”

“I know,” Serana said softly. “And no I'm not ready. I don't think you can ever be ready to kill your parent. But after everything that's happened, I don't think we have any choice. You two will be there, right?”

“Of course!” Cicero cooed and Athis nodded too.

“Of course.”

“Thank you,” Serana said. “And… and if I can't do it… you have to. If he won't surrender and I can't kill him, you two need to step in and do it for me.”

“Cicero will do it,” Cicero promised. “You can count on me. Cicero's never failed a job yet.”

“And if you ever do, it won't be for want of trying,” Athis said. Cicero might have his flaws, the mental instability, the dark past, the offputting cheeriness – but one thing he'd never lacked was determination. It had been something Kodlak had always liked and respected in Cicero.

Cicero looked up, beaming and nodding enthusiastically.

“Come on!” he cooed. “Let's kill some Keepers!” 

And off they went.

The first Keeper turned out to be a massively tall wraith in dragonbone armour and a mace bigger than Cicero. It took Cicero shooting it and staying well out of the way, Athis being very quick on his feet and Serana's magic, but eventually it died. 

Then the next one, on the other side of the Soul Cairn in a giant throne, and then the final one died when Cicero changed into beast form and shoved it off the top of the tower it was occupying.

“I should look away for this bit, shouldn't I?” Serana said as Cicero bounded back, standing over his clothes protectively.

“That you should,” Athis said, and before long, Cicero had changed back and was getting dressed while Athis and Serana retrieved his stuff… including a small brown leather journal that had fallen out of Cicero's pocket.

“What's this?” Serana said, reading it. “The journal of Kodlak Whitemane? Who was that?”

“The previous Harbinger, but why's Cicero carrying his journal around?” Athis took the journal off Serana and turned to Cicero, staring firmly at him. “Cicero?”

Cicero was staring at the journal, face pale and horrified as his expression twisted into one of cold fury.

“ _Give it back!_ ” Cicero hissed. “It is not yours! It is CICERO'S!”

“It's an old deceased friend's private journal, is what it is!” Athis snapped. “How long have you had this? Did you go through his things???”

“Someone had to!!” Cicero cried. “Eola needed to clear his room out anyway and Eorlund sent Cicero to find the last bit of Wuuthrad! Cicero found the journal, Cicero read it… IT IS CICERO'S, GIVE IT BACK!”

“You _read_ his journal??” Athis shouted. “You sneaking little…!”

“IT IS MINE, IT IS MINE, GIVE IT BACK!” Cicero howled, flinging himself at Athis and the two men scuffled… until Serana intervened and pulled them apart. 

“Hey! That's enough!” Serana cried, shoving Cicero back and positioning herself in front of Athis. “Cicero, why do you have a dead man's journal on you and why is it so important?”

Cicero was still reaching desperately out towards Athis, his expression nothing sort of panicked.

“It is mine,” Cicero whispered. “It's all I have of him, please...”

“What, of Kodlak?” Athis said, staring at the journal. “Why… Cicero? What about Kodlak? I know you were friendly with him, I know he was fond of you, but why would you want his journal?”

Cicero closed his eyes and lowered his face, dropping to the floor and sitting with his back against the wall, looking utterly defeated.

“Kodlak died saving me,” Cicero whispered. “That day the Silver Hand came… we were in the main hall, he'd made a point of seeking me out, poured poor Cicero a drink, said he wanted to have a man to man chat, there was something he had to tell me. But the Silver Hand came before he could say any more. Cicero was only in his motley, he only had his knife. One of them went for Cicero and Kodlak… Kodlak changed. He was a werewolf too but Cicero had never seen his beast form. All the Hand went for him after that. He… he died saving all of us… because of me.”

Cicero looked devastated at the mere memory, and Athis felt the outrage die. He'd not been there – he'd been with Eola, helping her wipe out the Glenmoril witches so Kodlak could have his cure. They'd got back to Jorrvaskr just in time to see the devastation firsthand – Kodlak dead on the floor, Vilkas kneeling by his body in tears, and Cicero surrounded by about seven dead members of the Silver Hand, pale, shaking and clearly overcome by strong emotions. When Vilkas had shouted at Eola and Athis for not being there, Cicero had been the one to scream at Vilkas to leave her alone before clinging to Eola, sniffling against her shoulder. He'd only perked up when Vilkas suggested a visit to the Silver Hand headquarters to avenge their fallen Harbinger. That had cheered him up immensely. Then had come the funeral, and something had happened after that, something that had sent Cicero into a howling sobbing mess for hours and then he'd been quiet and sombre for days, up until he'd accompanied the Circle to Ysgramor's Tomb. Athis had remained behind, Eola telling him Cicero was insisting on going, and she needed to be there for him… and then they'd all eventually filed back in and Eola was the new Harbinger and Cicero seemed calmer. Still mourning, but seeming more at ease. And Athis had a feeling this journal had something to do with it.

Slowly, Athis went over to Cicero, sitting down next to him before passing the journal over.

“I'm sorry, Cicero. Here. If it means that much to you, you can have it back.”

Cicero looked up, expression wary but he saw the precious journal being handed back to him, unread, his privacy unbreached, Athis apparently not tricking him after all, and Cicero reached out and snatched it back, clutching it to his chest, eyes closed as he sighed in relief.

“Thank you, brother,” Cicero whispered. “It is… it is very good of you. Cicero is… is sorry he shouted.”

“It's all right,” Athis said quietly. “I know his death hit you hard. If having his journal comforts you, then you have it. I only ask that if there's anything in there that might comfort your fellow Companions, that you tell them as well. They're grieving too.”

Cicero nodded, squeezing the journal tight, before looking tearfully up at Athis, nervous little smile on his face.

“I'm going to be a father,” Cicero whispered. “Athis, we're going to be fathers. Little ones – twins! I – I mean, I'm not ready. I cannot – I never wanted… but children are sweet? Sometimes? There will be three of us, the rest of the Companions will help, Fralia will be all over them, their grandfather will doubtless be delighted and send an entire squad of ReachGuard to assist – do you think Jarl Balgruuf will mind?”

“Yes, but I think the High Queen will talk them both down from an actual fight,” Athis said, amused at the prospect of Balgruuf and Madanach squaring off over the presence of ReachGuard forces marching into the city to protect the latest additions to the Reach Royal Family.

Cicero giggled, still fingering the journal fondly, before looking up at Athis.

“Brother,” he said quietly. “Do you think it would comfort those others who knew the Harbinger to know there will be grandchildren?”

That did get Athis's attention, not to mention Serana's.

“But Eola's not related to Kodlak, she can't be,” Serana whispered. “So does that mean you…?”

Cicero nodded, smiling through his tears as he held out the journal. Apparently now the secret was out, he had no trouble sharing the journal.

“Yes!” Cicero gasped. “Yes, it is in the journal, here, here! Serana and Athis should read!”

So they did, Serana looking over Athis's shoulder as they read entries predating the rise of the Dragonborn even, of Kodlak dreaming of not being allowed into Sovngarde, before the dream changed and a Reachwoman with one eye and dark magic at her command saved him from Hircine, aided by a redhaired archer in a merryman's hat with the face, hair and eyes of Kodlak's old lover. It turned out said lover, Stelmaria Di Rosso, had vanished from a tavern one night after having been seen in the company of a Breton called Sam, never to be seen again… but Athis knew Cicero's mother had had that name, raising Cicero as a single mother until she was killed when the Imperial City fell during the war. Cicero had been thirteen at the time, homeless and heartbroken, and while he didn't talk about what had happened then, everyone suspected he'd turned to crime to survive. Cicero had never denied this.

“A Breton called Sam?” Athis asked, suddenly realising just why Cicero had encouraged him to take part in that drinking contest.

“Yes, Sam Guevenne!” Cicero hissed, narrowing his eyes. “Of course Cicero knew him. Cicero wished to win him over, lull him into a false sense of security and then murder him for stealing his childhood! Of course, then Cicero found out he was the Daedric Prince of Debauchery, which stopped that plan. I suppose the staff is useful.”

Not compensation for not having a father, or a childhood in Skyrim, where his mother would have been safe from the war, and they all knew it. But Cicero could do very little about it and so did not dwell on it. Athis returned his attention to the journal.

Jorrvaskr politics – Farkas and Vilkas betrayed by the loss of Sovngarde, Aela and Skjor deciding the Hunting Grounds was the better afterlife. The issue still not resolved when dragons came back, and then the arrival of the Dragonborn distracted everyone. Then Skjor's death, Ria's capture, Vilkas going off with Farkas on some mad quest to try and rescue Ria, Aela, previously neutral, becoming fervently anti-Stormcloak and quarrelling with Njada constantly, when she was even in Jorrvaskr. Then the Battle of Whiterun, Kodlak finally persuaded by a politician who seemed to have her honour intact to allow his remaining Companions to join the defence of the city, but at the cost of Njada the Stormcloak supporter, who left to join Ulfric. Her later death in the war was a sadness but not a surprise.

The surprise turned out to be Elisif returning to trap a dragon and fly off on it to face Alduin – amazing enough, but not when it turned out the price had been an alliance with the Forsworn to take Windhelm and bring the war to a halt. That had led Kodlak preparing to leave immediately, convinced the King in Rags would be massacring innocent Nords. Then he'd met the man's daughter and realised she was the woman who'd driven off Hircine, and that had given him pause. Meeting Madanach himself and finding he wasn't the monster he'd assumed either, but a man who cared for his family and was trying his best to put a long neglected city back together, had also given him food for thought.

And then he'd met Cicero, and known the man for his as soon as he laid eyes on him, and Kodlak had written pages on the guilt, the emotion, the anguish as he talked to Cicero about his life and heard a tale of woe and pain and loneliness – the loss of his mother young, a disreputable life of which Cicero preferred not to speak, finding a replacement family and that falling apart too, loneliness that had broken him, and finally coming north and ending up working for the true High Queen after she saved him from the Dark Brotherhood. Then he'd met Eola and was happy in that at least. It had only salved Kodlak's guilt a little, and Kodlak had decided the only honourable path was to offer Cicero and Eola a place at Jorrvaskr. They had accepted and settled in commendably swiftly, making friends, having some notable successes, winning over Fralia and Tilma within the first week, persuading Olfina she was wasted as a barmaid and should join up, and generally making themselves at home. And while Kodlak wasn't entirely easy with the apparent growing attachment between Eola and Athis, he was at least relieved to see Cicero didn't seem to mind. So it was that Kodlak had decided to trust his dreams and take Eola into his confidence, and found that her aunt Keirine could help if she could get her talons on the heads of the Glenmoril Coven who'd laid the curse in the first place.

So Eola had gone to deal with the witches, taking Athis with her at Kodlak's request, so Kodlak could get Cicero alone and finally tell him he had a father. Kodlak wrote at length how proud he was of his boy, how saddened and guilty he felt at never having been able to provide for him as a Nord should, but that he intended to make up for it, and that if all went well, Cicero could have a permanent home at Jorrvaskr and they could have the father-son relationship they should have had years ago.

That was the last entry. Athis lowered the journal, knowing what must have happened. Kodlak had written it the night before he died, intending to tell Cicero the following day. He never had the chance. He'd died saving his son instead.

“He died before he could say anything,” Athis whispered. “You didn't know until you found this after he died. Cicero, you poor sod.”

Cicero took the journal back, holding it to him with his eyes shut.

“Now you know why I always carry it,” Cicero whispered, not meeting their eyes. “It's all I have from my father. Words of love and affection and pride in poor undeserving Cicero. A diary and a memory, of his spirit in Ysgramor's Tomb, when Eola and I cured his spirit. I called him Papa and… and we may have both cried a bit and he told me he loved me and that I should always have a home in Jorrvaskr and that he was sorry and...”

Cicero took a deep breath and wiped the tears away, and that was the point Serana finally lost her nerve and cuddled him. Cicero squeaked awkwardly, before patting her back and cuddling her too.

“Serana has her own family troubles, Serana does not have to comfort poor Cicero,” Cicero whispered.

“But your story's so sad!” Serana cried. “I mean, losing your mother, and then your father finding you but not being able to tell you in time… you poor thing!”

“He is in Sovngarde,” Cicero said softly. “It is what he wanted. I hope he is happy. As for Cicero...” Cicero put the journal away, determined look on his face. “Cicero will have children of his own soon. He will be sure to tell them of their honourable Nord grandfather and their brave Imperial Legion nonna. And he will help raise them, and teach them important things like reading and writing and sneaking and stabbing and how to cook their prey once they have killed it.”

“Er, he is talking about animals here, isn't he?” Serana whispered to Athis.

“He'd better be,” Athis said grimly. “Hey, Cicero. Does this mean you're coming round to the idea?”

Cicero nodded, touching the pocket that stored the journal.

“Yes,” Cicero said quietly. “Cicero's children will have more than a diary and a memory. Cicero's children will have their father. Cicero may even name one after their grandfather.”

“And if they're both girls?” Serana asked.

“Then I'll name one after Mama instead,” Cicero said decisively, getting to his feet. “Come, come, let us go. Let us not keep Madam Valerica waiting any further, hmm?”

“Let's not,” Serana said, smiling as she made to follow him. For all the sadness, Cicero's story had touched her. He'd had a father who loved him, a good man from the sound of it. Serana found herself envying him. Maybe Cicero had lost his mother and been robbed of his father's love until it was too late, but he'd still had better parents than she had. Serana had a feeling he'd make a better father than hers too. He wasn't planning to sacrifice his children for immortality or take over the world anyway.

But Serana still had her mother, and with the Keepers gone, said mother was now free. Time to go find her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Kodlak reveal is unlikely to be news to readers of Cicero Dragonborn, but I thought it worked better thematically with this one rather than WQA. At least Kodlak never found out about the Dark Brotherhood membership here.
> 
> Next chapter finishes the Soul Cairn bit - I have something different planned for Durnehviir. Born of necessity what with no Dragonborns in the party...


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valerica's free, but their efforts have not gone unnoticed and there's one more jailer yet to fight. Things take an intriguing turn, however, when said jailer has a proposition of his own for Cicero in particular, making an offer that Cicero's hard pressed to refuse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the Durnehviir bit, which I've... amended a bit. Seeing as there's no Dragonborn in the party, I've decided to take a different track, played a bit fast and loose with the lore, and this is the result.

Serana and Athis raced out of the citadel to find Cicero there, standing very still in the entranceway. Standing very still, because perched on top of the plinth before him was the reconstituted form of a dragon they'd just seen die.

Durnehviir was sitting there, watching Cicero with no small interest.

“Brother,” Cicero hissed between gritted teeth. “Brother, help.”

Athis would love to, but the fact remained he wasn't Dragonborn, none of them were, and dragons were not his area of expertise. In fact, even Elisif would likely struggle with this one.

But the dragon wasn't attacking. Which meant maybe it – he – would be willing to negotiate.

“Durnehviir,” Athis called, coming to stand by Cicero's side, Serana standing on Cicero's other side in case the dragon got any ideas. “You're supposed to be dead.”

“Supposed to be,” the dragon agreed, sounding surprisingly calm for a newly-resurrected servant of the Ideal Masters. “But I am of the Dov, Qahnaarin-Fahliiluv. I am not so easy to kill. And after so many long years here, I am… bound to this realm. It will not easily let me go, not now. That is why I wished tinvaak with you, Qahnaarinne.”

“OK, certain key words of that were in too much Dovah for me,” Serana said, narrowing her eyes. “Tinvaak and Qahnaarinne?”

“Tinvaak means he wants to talk with us, not fight,” Athis said, knowing that much from Eola's admittedly second-hand stories. “I think. Don't know what Qahnaarinne is, though.”

“Vanquishers,” Durnehviir confirmed. “It means vanquishers in your tongue. I have felled many on the field of battle, but never before have I lost in honourable battle. And so I honour you, Qahnaarin-Fahliiluv, Qahnaarin-Meyus and Qahnaarin-Sosnaak. The elf, the fool and the one who consumes blood.”

“Wait, so we killed you and you're… pleased?” Serana said, now completely confused. “You know, most people don't want to die.”

“Most,” Durnehviir agreed. “But I believe in civility among seasoned warriors and can appreciate the artistry in a kill well-executed.”

Athis had no idea what to think of that, although predictably, Cicero was already preening and squealing his thanks.

“We did what we had to,” Athis said, that at least being true. “So, other than acknowledging each other as honourable warriors, did you have a reason for seeking us out?”

Given that acknowledging someone as a fellow honourable warrior didn't mean you weren't going to kill them, now or later, Athis wasn't reassured by any of this, but fortunately Durnehviir just laughed.

“Geh, Qahnaarin. As you know, I made a bargain with the Ideal Masters once. Many among the Dov warred for power among ourselves. I was one, but where others used fire or claws or proxy battles with their joor underlings, I turned to the arts of Alok-Dilon – what you call necromancy.”

“I didn't know dragons could do magic,” Athis said, surprised by that at least. “Especially not death magic – you're immortal, aren't you?”

“We can do many things,” Durnehviir said, smirking. “But it is true most Dov have little interest in death and its trappings. That is precisely why I researched the matter. I sought an edge, a weapon they would not know how to counter.”

“Did that work out well for you?” Athis asked, unable to quite keep the sarcasm out of his voice. Durnehviir's disgruntled expression was all the answer any of them needed.

“I discovered too late that the Ideal Masters favoured deception over honour and had no intention of releasing me from this bargain,” Durnehviir growled. “They granted me power at the price of servitude until the death of the one they call Valerica.”

“But Mother's a vampire, she can only die if someone kills her – oh,” Serana said, realising the Ideal Masters had known that all along. “They never told you that.”

“No,” Durnehviir growled. “The bindings did not break until you killed me, Sosnaakin. At which point, I was able to reconstitute my form elsewhere. I am free of my service at least.”

“But not free of something else?” Athis asked, not missing the resignation in the dragon's voice.

“You learn well,” Durnehviir noted. “I have been here too long to be truly free. I could return to Tamriel, but not remain there. Not forever. Not without help.”

“Which we're supposed to give you?” Serana sighed, seeing where this was going. “Just like that?”

Durnehviir laughed, settling on his perch, relaxed and seemingly at ease with being caught out.

“Geh, Sosnaakin. But this help will be rewarded, have no fear. None of you are Dovahkiin, alas. Were it so, perhaps one of you could Shout my name, speak it to the skies of Keizaal, allowing me precious moments of time there. Alas, it is not so. The only way to truly return is to die in truth and hope Akatosh or Kaan can find me here. But...” and here he lowered his head to stare Cicero straight in the eye, those big teeth barely a foot from the little jester. “There may be another way.”

Cicero whimpered a bit, reaching for Athis's hands, not liking where this was going.

“You are not Dovahkiin, but you have Dovah Sos in your veins,” Durnehviir said, eyes not leaving Cicero. “Also you have a gap in your soul. A space. A space where a Ziil-se-Dovah, a dragon's soul, might hide.”

“Cicero isn't...” Cicero whispered. “I mean, Cicero is not Dragonborn… Cicero isn't sure he wants a dragon's soul in his head.”

“It would not be permanent,” Durnehviir murmured. “It would not harm you. And you are not Dovahkiin, no… but you could have been. You have the, hmm, meyriid but not the kogaan. You could have been… but the gods chose another.”

Both Serana and Athis were staring at Cicero who had gone a bit pink and was looking very nervous, muttering something incoherent about 'better at it' and 'much prettier than me'.

“You were nearly Dragonborn?” Athis said, surprised. “You've got dragon blood?”

Cicero just shrugged and Athis now had to wonder where he'd inherited it from. Kodlak? His Imperial mother? Athis didn't know, but part of him liked to think old Kodlak had Dovah Sos in his bloodline somewhere.

“So wait,” Serana said, frowning. “Cicero's got dragon blood… so you want him to ferry your soul out of the Soul Cairn? But… won't that kill you?”

“Vo dilon, vo alok-yun. You cannot be reborn until you have died,” Durnehviir said, apparently unbothered by the prospect of death. “My body would cease to be. My soul would travel with you as you returned to Keizaal. Then it would depart, perhaps to be reborn in time. As my father Akatosh wills it.”

“Wait,” Athis interrupted. “You're willing to die, possibly forever, just to get out of here? Have you thought this through??”

“I have done little but think!” Durnehviir snarled. “Ages upon ages, I have been here, bound to service, a prisoner in my own mind, the slave of the Ideal Masters! Now I am free of that, but trapped in another way. Yes, Fahliil, I would rather die and take the chance of never being reborn than spend another moment in this hell! Qahnaarin. Ziizahro. Do this for me, and I will leave a gift. The Thu'um of your choice, yours to keep.”

Cicero gasped in amazement and then grinned, delighted.

“Any Thu'um? All three words?” Cicero asked, always being one to spot the loophole in anything.

“All three words. If it is one I know,” Durnehviir confirmed and Cicero clasped his hands together, eyes lighting up.

“Fire,” Cicero said instantly. “Cicero wants to breathe fire.”

“Fire,” Durnehviir said, fixing Cicero very carefully with his gaze. “Are you sure. There are many other Thu'ums – slowing time, making your enemies fear you, leeching their strength, calling storms, ripping their souls from their bodies...”

That last one did give Cicero pause, but then he shook his head.

“No. Fire. Cicero wants to breathe fire.”

“Yol,” Durnehviir muttered to himself. “Druv yol alun? Pah Rotmulaagge nuz yol alun… Ugh. Fine, Ziizahro. We have a bargain. Prepare yourself.”

Cicero promised he was ready, he was, and Durnehviir closed his eyes before lying down as if for a long sleep… and then he started to glow, and then his body started to burn, and then his soul swirled up before firing straight at Cicero, as if a glowing golden dragon was coming for him… and then it smacked into him, sending him flying, shrieking in pain as he was flung back across stone floor, screaming as light surrounded him, heedless of Athis and Serana crying his name… and then it was done. Cicero was lying on the floor, twitching and whimpering, but alive. 

Athis helped him sit up, worried about the way he was swaying, and even more worried at the way Cicero's eyes looked reptilian now

“Brother,” Cicero whispered, giggling to himself. “Brother, this feels most uncomfortable.”

“Of course it feels uncomfortable, you just said yes to a dangerous bargain involving having a dragon's soul in your head!” Athis cried. “Mephala's sake, Cicero, are you all right?”

“Not really,” Cicero whispered, conjuring Arvak. “I don't think I should stay in the Soul Cairn...” Cicero staggered to his feet and let Serana help him on to Arvak's back.

“Get back to Eola,” Serana told him. “Maybe when you do, Durnehviir will leave you alone. Take the Scroll as well, we'll follow when we can.”

Cicero nodded and, spurring Arvak into gear, rode off back to the portal.

“Meanwhile I suppose we'd better get his soul and meet him,” Athis sighed. “Come on. Let's rob the Ideal Masters, no way that'll go wrong.”

Stealing Cicero's soul piece, an Elder Scroll, Valerica Volkihar, all those summoning tomes Cicero had been swiping as they'd hunted the Keepers, and now smuggling Durnehviir out too. Serana decided she was never doing any serious necromancy again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Eola looked up as the portal flared, and immediately went cold as her matrimony bond kicked in again. Cicero was back – yes, there he was, bouncing up the stairs, Elder Scroll at his back, manic grin on his face and… glowing eyes. He never had glowing lizard eyes before, and he felt wrong. Screaming, panicky, terrified, giggling hysterically, mind full of fire… something had gone very wrong.

“Cicero,” Eola whispered as Cicero collapsed to his knees. “Namira, Cicero! What happened?”

“Help me,” Cicero whispered. “Eola, he's not leaving like he promised, Eola!”

“Who's not leaving? Cicero?” Eola cried. And then something which Eola swore was a bit like a dragon soul boiled out of Cicero, all light and fire, and it dived straight for Eola's belly.

“What – no!” Eola cried, before crying out in pain as she clutched her stomach, the agony almost overwhelming… and then it was gone and Eola was lying on the floor, staring up at the ceiling while Cicero got to his feet.

“Sweetling?” Cicero whispered, panic in his voice. “Pretty Eola? What – are you all right?”

No she fucking well wasn't.

“What did you just do???” Eola shouted at him. “Where the FUCK are Athis and Serana??”

“Still in the Soul Cairn,” Cicero whispered. “They were fetching the rest of Cicero's soul. Sweetling. Pretty wife. Lovely wife! Please don't look at poor Cicero like that. He always worries you are about to turn Hag on him.”

“Leave my family out of this,” Eola hissed. Cicero's eyes were back to normal, that was something. But what had happened to her?? “Just tell me what you just did!”

Cicero laughed nervously and then abruptly stopped as the bond transmitted Eola's wrath back to him.

“Cicero made a deal with a dragon in the Soul Cairn so he could learn how to breathe fire,” Cicero whispered. “The nice dragon wanted to escape the Soul Cairn. So Cicero ferried him out. Only now the soul has escaped and… er. Cicero is sorry?”

“Sorry???” Eola cried. “You made a deal with a dragon whose soul has just attacked _our babies_ and you're _sorry??_ ”

“Um,” was all Cicero could say, before seeing the genuine grief in her eyes and having an attack of conscience. “Eola? Eola, please… Cicero did not know! Cicero is sorry!”

“YOU VOLUNTEERED TO FERRY A DRAGON'S SOUL OUT OF THE SOUL CAIRN AND DIDN'T THINK IT WOULD POSSIBLY GO WRONG??” Eola shouted.

Cicero fell back, whimpering piteously.

“Cicero is sorry!” Cicero wailed. “Cicero didn't know! Well, how was Cicero supposed to know one of the children is Dragonborn??”

Dragonborn… what? Eola sank down again, about ready to cry. A baby Dragonborn? Her baby, a Dragonborn.

Eola was not ready. Not remotely ready. She needed help, encouragement, a shoulder to cry on, someone to tell her everything was going to be all right.

_I need my da._ Except he'd probably throttle Cicero on hearing about the Soul Cairn business with a bloody _dragon_.

She needed Athis. He'd understand. Or at least explain. And on cue, the man himself arrived with Serana in tow.

“Got it,” Athis said, tossing a black soul gem at Cicero who caught it expertly, pressed it to his cheek and squeaked as it flared purple and then clattered to the floor, now empty, leaving Cicero's soul whole once more, for some value of whole anyway. Then Athis turned to Eola, alarmed at the panic in her eyes.

“Eola?” Athis gasped, kneeling at her side and holding her. “Eola, what's wrong? We got the Scroll, Serana found her mother… Eola?”

“Serana,” Eola whispered. “Check the souls. Check my babies!”

Serana cast the spell, nodding as it revealed two immature souls still in place… then frowning at one of them which seemed… different. Brighter somehow. Curling protectively around its twin.

“What happened to that one?” Serana whispered.

“A bloody dragon soul happened to that one!” Eola cried and then she burst into tears.

“Dragon soul?” Serana gasped, then she folded her arms and stared furiously at Cicero. “So, let me guess. You made a bargain with an entity from the Soul Cairn and it's gone wrong.”

“Cicero didn't… Cicero is sorry!” Cicero wailed, reaching out to Eola… but she wasn't even looking at him. She was curled up in Athis' arms and Athis was glaring furiously at Cicero.

“You stupid bastard, Cicero,” Athis swore at him. “Learning to breathe fire – was it worth putting our kids in danger?”

“I DIDN'T KNOW!” Cicero howled, tears in his eyes. “I DIDN'T KNOW OUR BABY WAS DRAGONBORN!”

“YOU KNEW YOU WERE DRAGON-BLOODED, DURNEHVIIR TOLD YOU!” Athis shouted back, and Eola finally broke, clinging on to Athis like a little girl.

“Can someone please tell me what happened in there?” Eola whispered, and at length Cicero was forced to explain how they'd killed an immortal dragon, an immortal necromancer dragon who'd been a slave of the Ideal Masters, except he'd reconstituted himself and made Cicero a deal – breathing fire if he used the gap in his soul to ferry the dragon's soul out of the Soul Cairn. Except when Cicero finished, he was acutely aware that it sounded a lot less impressive than he'd thought at the time.

Eola however seemed to have pulled herself together somewhat. She was stroking her belly and looking very very thoughtful. 

“So,” Eola said. “I'm pregnant with twins, one of whom just absorbed the soul of a necromancer dragon who was trying to escape the Soul Cairn. Which means that if one of my kids wasn't Dragonborn before… they are now.”

Cicero made a tiny little noise at the back of his throat and nodded. Eola tutted at him and shook her head, before making Athis help her up. 

“Can you actually breathe fire or did Durnehviir truly fuck you over?” Eola sighed, and as Serana helped Cicero up, Cicero realised that in all the excitement, Cicero hadn't actually thought to test it. He did however feel different, and there were words in his head, words that hadn't been there earlier. Fire Inferno Sun, three words of power gleaming in his mind. Turning to face out over the portal, Cicero took a deep breath before Shouting.

“YOL TOOR SHUL!” Cicero shouted, and a jet of fire billowed out across the room, the heat causing Serana to yelp and jump back, and scorchmarks being left on the far wall. Cicero could only stare as he realised Durnehviir hadn't lied about that at least. Slowly, he turned around, face aglow with unholy glee as he realised something had come out of this.

“Cicero can _breathe fire!_ ” he whispered and Athis could be heard audibly muttering 'Reclamations save us all' on seeing this. Eola ignored him, instead focusing on Serana's reaction. Predictably, Serana was also appalled.

“I'm… not seeing any good outcome from this one,” Serana admitted. “Kind of on a par with giving a child a knife and some poison and seeing what happens.”

Eola recalled her mother leaving dangerous reagents and sharp cutting implements within child's reach all the time, and nothing too bad had ever happened, although that was mostly down to Amaleen's vigilance.

“Well, Durnehviir didn't lie,” Eola said thoughtfully. “He kept his side of things. And you kept yours – you took him back to Tamriel. Of course, he never said what would happen on his return. Maybe he didn't know. He knew you were dragon-blooded, he may even have heard you mention you were going to be a father. But he couldn't have risked everything on a Dragonborn embryo… dammit, I need to talk to people who know the Soul Cairn and their dragonlore, and ideally someone who knew Durnehviir. That means Hag's End and a chat with my aunt, and then I think I need a word with Mr. Esbern, and hopefully Paarthurnax too. Elisif's told us things but not everything, and I need to know what we're dealing with. Also, I need an answer from Mr. Fool of Hearts here on whether he's actually sticking around and being any kind of father, because, you know, your earlier reaction didn't exactly fill me with confidence.”

Cicero's excitement over being able to breathe fire subsided as adult responsibility slammed back in with some force, and it dawned on him that anything up to nine months from now, he'd have two tiny children dependent on him for everything, and one of them was Dragonborn. Frankly, the thought was terrifying… but Cicero had tended to the Night Mother for years, giving up everything for very little reward. He wasn't about to abandon his children. Reaching for Kodlak's journal to give him the moral support, Cicero shuffled forward, looking a little embarrassed before holding the journal out.

“Cicero told Athis and Serana,” Cicero said quietly. “Cicero is thinking he will tell Farkas too when he next sees him, and Jorrvaskr once this is done. Papa might be watching from Sovngarde, and although he knows his son is a fool, Cicero will not have him think Cicero is a dishonourable fool. Papa would have loved grandchildren...” Cicero could feel tears welling up in his eyes, brushing one away, and then Eola was there, taking his hands in hers, finally smiling at him the way she always used to.

“Is that a yes?” Eola asked gently and Cicero nodded.

“Jorrvaskr grieves Kodlak still,” Cicero said softly. “Cicero thinks it would comfort them all to know they will soon have his grandchildren in the hall. And Cicero can hardly tell them that then abandon the little ones, can he? So… so he will tend to them. And to you. If – if Eola will still have me?”

“Yes,” Eola breathed, and then she was kissing him, and Cicero sighed happily as he kissed her back, finally forgiven. Of course, they still had the Dragonborn twin to worry about, but that was a long-term problem. For now, all seemed well.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“So,” Matriarch Keirine said, talons clacking against the mug of ale she was holding as she digested all Eola had told her. “Not only do you appear to definitely be pregnant with twins – twins fathered by a human at that, so they're not Athis's – you're now telling me one is Dragonborn, and possibly is now the reincarnation of a necromancer dragon by the name of Durnehviir.”

“Yeah,” Eola admitted. “Durnehviir claims we broke his service to the Ideal Masters when Cicero, Athis and Serana defeated him, but he couldn't permanently leave the Soul Cairn. So he said he was going to dissolve his body permanently and asked if Cicero could give him a ride back into Tamriel. Because Cicero is apparently dragon-blooded although not a full Dragonborn, and what with part of his soul having been offered to the Ideal Masters as a bribe, that meant he had space in his skull for a passenger. Except what none of us knew was that when that soul left Cicero, it'd head straight for my unborn kids.” Eola growled, fingers in her hair as she sat in the one chair in the room. Keirine was curled up in a nest of straw, feathers fluttering as one hand petted her pet frostbite spider Madoc, while the other held her ale tankard. Not a side of the First Matriarch many people saw, but Eola was hardly most people.

“And you wish me to do what?” Keirine asked, frowning. “Eola, the only safe way is to perform an abortion, and you've already turned that down.”

“I know!” Eola cried. “I just… look, you know about the Soul Cairn! You've probably done the odd deal with the Ideal Masters yourself before now. I wanted to know if Durnehviir was telling the truth. Was he genuinely trying to escape or is this some plot by the Ideal Masters??”

Keirine petted Madoc, and then she actually smiled.

“Nieceling. Your friends have just carried out the first ever successful raid on the Soul Cairn, returning with three prized summoning tomes, which will be extremely useful when the other Hags want something, thank you, my dear. You've also managed to destroy their Boneyard Keepers, keep Valerica's soul from their clutches, and now you tell me you've successfully ferried Durnehviir's soul away.”

“Yeah,” Eola admitted. “Er. Did we piss them off?”

Keirine threw back her head and laughed, cackling away and spilling half her beer in the process, but not seeming to care.

“Did you annoy them?” Keirine finally laughed. “ _Did you annoy them??_ My dear, my contacts in Oblivion have never heard anything like it. My fellow Hags are hearing the same thing. Apparently no one has ever before heard of the Ideal Masters coming off worst in a deal before now. Never. Congratulations, cariad. You're famous.”

“Are we?” Eola whispered. Keirine shrugged.

“Well, you personally, no. But I would recommend your gentleman friends do not attempt any future necromantic activities involving the Soul Cairn. Especially Cicero. They will remember him.”

Eola could definitely promise Cicero wouldn't be doing anything of the sort ever again. But it hadn't answered her question about Durnehviir.

“Do you think him being in one of my kids is a plot by the Ideal Masters?” Eola whispered. “I mean, Cicero claims Durnehviir wanted to escape them, and Serana and Athis seem to think he wasn't lying, but I don't know for sure!”

“Nor will you, I think, until your child is born and raised,” Keirine said, smile fading. “Either abort them both now and try again, or take the risk. Those are your options. However, I can offer some hope. The Ideal Masters would not be as furious as they are if this was a plot of theirs. I do not believe they had anything to do with this. I am familiar with the tale of Durnehviir – after all, it is not often you get a dragon practising necromancy. It's said the bargain was service until his death or that of the necromancer Valerica – of course, the sting is that both are immortal. It's a common cautionary tale we tell to young necromancers. Seeing as he was killed, that would have freed him – but all that time in the Cairn changes you, it is true. More than this, I cannot tell you – dragons are not my speciality. You want the Blades… or their dragon 'friend'.”

Paarthurnax. Eola hoped he'd be able to help. Keirine at any rate didn't know any more, although she did promise to keep talking to her own contacts in Oblivion and listen for more news. She also promised not to tell Madanach just yet.

“Oh, and cariad,” Keirine said idly as Eola got up to leave. “Congratulations. I'll get you some morning sickness remedies before you leave. Please don't name one after me, everyone'll expect me to take an interest in its upbringing. I presume you'll want every painkiller known to magic for the labour?”

“Yes please,” Eola said, grateful for her aunt's support as always. Somehow, knowing the Ideal Masters hadn't been involved bolstered her spirits – at least she was just going to be mother to a reincarnated dragon escapee from the Soul Cairn, as opposed to a mole from the Ideal Masters. Mother to a Dragonborn! Eola couldn't even imagine. But Eola was a witch of no small talent, and used to corralling a dangerous and unpredictable force of nature. Eola still needed to talk to Paarthurnax, of course. But she had a feeling everything was going to work out just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes on the Dovah:
> 
> Fahliil, fahliiluv - elf, elven
> 
> Meyus - foolish
> 
> Sosnaak, sosnaakin - consuming blood, one who consumes blood, i.e. vampire
> 
> Dovah Sos - dragon blood
> 
> Meyriid - bloodline
> 
> Kogaan - blessing
> 
> Vo dilon, vo alok-yun - no death, no new life
> 
> Druv yol alun? Pah Rotmulaagge nuz yol alun - why is it always fire? Out of all the many words of power, it's always fire.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our heroes return to Sky Haven Temple with their Elder Scroll, only to find their means of reading them will need a rethink and a new plan. But all is not lost as another visitor to Sky Haven Temple is able to ease Eola's fears regarding her unborn children on one score... but raises a whole new one. Meanwhile in Solitude, the High Queen has troubles of her own, as her past refuses to stay there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So anyway, I decided that as part of the general theme of this fic wrapping up the Skyrim content that never made it into WQA, we deserved to have some Dragonborn DLC content. And here it is! After writing Reclamations, I decided I was never writing that questline again, and for the most part, I'm still not. Here, Miraak sent cultists to assassinate Elisif in her own courtroom in Sun's Dusk 203, which went about as well as you'd expect (unarmed Elisif Shouted them both down while backing away with Maia in her arms, and then Madanach descended in a righteous fury and that was that). Elisif finally went out to Solstheim in early 204 after the initial investigators didn't come back, and then the Companions party headed by Eola didn't come back either, and after that Madanach freaked out and insisted Elisif do something, so off she went, returning a few weeks later with all her missing people rescued and Miraak dead and a few souvenirs including all Miraak's stuff and some Black Books for Keirine. Sounds good, right? Well... not quite, as you will see.

“We got the Scroll!” Eola cried as she led them into Sky Haven Temple's main hall. “Bryn! Bryn! Where's our Moth Priest, we've got some Scrolls to read! Has Elisif's arrived yet?”

Brynjolf stepped into the centre of the room, but he wasn't smiling.

“In the library,” was all he said. “Elisif's arrived yesterday, but… there's a problem.”

“A problem?” Eola asked, exchanging glances with the others, alarmed. “What sort of problem??”

“Come with me and I'll show you,” Brynjolf said. So they followed him onwards to the Blades library, where Esbern was sitting across the fire from Dexion, reading to him from the Song of Pelinal. Dexion himself was listening attentively, but not reading himself. A blindfold covered his eyes.

“Why are his eyes bound?” Cicero whispered. “He cannot see with that on, can he?”

“No,” Brynjolf said shortly. “Nor with it off. That is our problem. Our Moth Priest can't read Elder Scrolls any more.”

Esbern and Dexion looked up and Esbern lowered the book.

“Ah. Eola. Cicero. Serana. Athis. I wondered when you'd be by,” the old man said. “Has Brynjolf told you our news?”

“Yeah,” Eola whispered, her own troubles forgotten as she came to kneel by Dexion's side. “What happened? I thought you guys could read the Scrolls without going blind?”

“Oh child,” Dexion sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Even we succumb in time. It is the price we pay for our knowledge. Even so, you are correct. We normally do not suffer so quickly. Alas, in my haste to read, I neglected to take the proper precautions. Days of meditation are normally required, as is fasting and vigil and the blessings of the Eight. Alas, I did none of those things and now I pay the price.”

“We all pay the price if we can't read these Scrolls,” Athis said sombrely. “We'll never know the prophecy.”

“You mean we have gone to all that trouble for nothing??” Cicero wailed, at least until Serana hushed him.

“Hey, you got quite a bit out of it as I recall,” Serana said. “Not a complete loss. And at least if we've got the Scrolls, my father hasn't.”

“True enough,” Eola said quietly. “Dexion. Is there anything you _can_ tell us? We don't need the bow to defeat Harkon, Elisif will launch the attack on his castle anyway, but if there's anything you can do, even if it's just give us the name of one of your colleagues who might be able to come out here at short notice...”

“Patience,” Dexion said quietly, faint smile on his face. “There may be a way. Without anyone else losing their sight. There is a ritual, the Rite of the Ancestor Moth. Properly performed, it should allow you to read the Scrolls for yourself.”

It sounded risky. These things always were. But Eola was nothing if not resourceful.

“What does it do?” Eola asked. And so Dexion explained about one of the ancient rituals of the Moth Priests, where the priest would use a special knife to take some bark samples of a sacred canticle tree, attracting the Ancestor Moths the Moth Priests were named for. The moths had been the ones to first teach the priests how to read the Scrolls, and once enough of them were gathered around the participant, they would enable them to understand the Scroll's contents.

“What, Ancestor Moths are real??” Cicero squealed. “Cicero had no idea! Mama told me the story when I was just a little boy who wanted to know what Moth Priests did all day and were they really moths in human form – stop laughing, brother, I was barely five years old. Mama told me the Moth Priests were very wise men and women who read prophecies from the Elder Scrolls and had been taught the art from the Ancestor Moths. She said it was very dangerous to try and read a Scroll without proper training, you see.”

“She was not wrong,” Dexion told him, smiling ruefully. “Let me be an example, Cicero. But as I said, if you are cloaked with Ancestor Moths, their all-sight will protect you. Of course, you will need first to find a special Ancestor Glade. Fortunately for you, there is one in Skyrim, in the mountains south of Falkreath. I was intending to go there to meditate – alas now I fear I will never see its glories. Nevertheless, if you take the Scrolls there in my stead, I believe you can perform the ritual and find out the entirety of this prophecy.”

A sign of hope, and Eola could tell Cicero was keen to get going at least, and Serana also seemed keen to find out the key to the Tyranny of the Sun. All the same though, Eola could wish it was somewhere else.

“Falkreath,” Eola sighed as she made her way to the bedrooms, Serana falling into step beside her while Cicero remained behind to poke at the library and bother Esbern, and Athis stayed behind to make sure he didn't break anything. “It would be Falkreath. Not Whiterun or Riften or Hjaalmarch. Falkreath.”

“Something wrong with Falkreath?” Serana asked, surprised. “Relations with Cyrodiil a little awkward?”

“Cyro-? Oh, no, sweetie, Falkreath's been part of Skyrim for centuries,” Eola purred. “Only the current Jarl is… well, he didn't inherit it, he got appointed by Elisif after the previous Jarl died, mostly I think to make sure he didn't plot against her in exile… or against her husband.”

“Ohhh,” Serana whispered, starting to see. “The Jarl of Falkreath doesn't like your father.”

“No,” Eola said ruefully. “Not considering Da overthrew and later executed Jarl Igmund's Da, and then proceeded to cause merry hell in the Reach while Igmund was Jarl there.”

Serana's jaw nearly hit the floor.

“Wait,” she breathed. “Skyrim conquered the _Reachmen??_ Daedra, who does that??”

“Someone with the Thu'um who wanted the mines and got tired of Reachmen raiding border settlements,” Eola explained. “But the Reachmen didn't like it.”

“I bet,” Serana breathed. “Goodness, conquering the Reachmen? Father always refused on principle. Said you were more trouble than you were worth – no offense. But does that mean Madanach led a rebellion then? He's not a hereditary king?”

“He's not, but he's intending Kaie will be,” Eola said, a hand drifting to her stomach. “He's been trying to get her to get married and pregnant for the last year, with no luck, I might add. I… well, looks like I got there first. Who'd have thought it. He's gonna be so pleased when I tell him. Who knows, maybe one of them will get to rule the Reach.”

“Maybe,” Serana said, eyeing Eola's belly. “Poor thing. Being royal's not all it's cracked up to be.”

Well, Eola knew that. At least she'd been able to get some independence from the Mournful Throne in adulthood… but she had a feeling the arrival of twin babies would change everything. All the same, getting one over her sister did bring a smile to Eola's face… but truth be told, it was the ecstatic tears in her father's eyes that really made her smile. He'd never expected her to have kids, in fact looking at Cicero, she suspected Madanach was hoping Cicero never bred. Alas, he'd be disappointed on that score, but she had a feeling grandchildren would make up for a lot. First though, she needed to find out what had happened to them. 

Esbern had already told her Paarthurnax was expected in the morning. Suited her just fine. Leaving Serana to have a look around, Eola retired to bed. She needed some answers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Sunlight over the Reach, and Eola held hands with Cicero as they waited, sitting on the steps and watching the Throat of the World. Three hours after sunrise, Esbern had said, and dragons were said to have an innate sense of time. Paarthurnax was never late.

And so they waited, holding hands and watching the sky, and before long Cicero saw it. A shape in the sky, descending from the mountain and growing as it approached. Paarthurnax, Master of the Voice, arriving from his lonely strunmah to have tinvaak with some unlikely friends.

Wind gusted over the courtyard, displaced air as a lord of the skies swooped overhead and powerful wingbeats lowered fifty tons of dragon onto the stone pavilion of Sky Haven Temple.

“PAARTHURNAX!” Cicero squealed, capering about in delight. “HELLO!”

Paarthurnax shook himself off and lowered his head to get a better look at Cicero.

“Ziizahro,” Paarthurnax said affectionately. “How have you been, fahdonni?”

“Paarthurnax, Paarthurnax, Cicero can _breathe fire!_ ” Cicero squealed. “Look, look! YOL TOOR SHUL!”

A fireball erupted out over the cliff edge, frightening a nearby bird and singeing the leaves off a juniper tree. Cicero squealed and then grinned up at Paarthurnax, looking very pleased with himself. That expression lasted all of two seconds, and then Paarthurnax spoke.

“Impressive. You have gone from knowing nothing to knowing all three words and Shouting like a master. And yet you are not Dovahkiin. It has been less than two weeks. Ziizahro. The truth. What have you done.”

“He made a bargain with a dragon necromancer who'd been trapped in the Soul Cairn, promising to ferry the dragon's soul out of the Cairn in return for being able to breathe fire,” Eola said grimly, folding her arms as she approached and glared at Cicero. “Which I could live with, but the thing is, he has dragon blood apparently, so do our unborn children and now one of them has _absorbed the soul._ Paarthurnax, I only have my aunt's word for it that the Ideal Masters never intended this, and neither she nor I know how dragon soul absorption works! Paarthurnax, please, please tell me what's happening.” Eola's voice had dropped to a panicked whisper, and she might have forgiven Cicero but that didn't mean she wasn't concerned. And Paarthurnax… he looked frankly alarmed.

“A dragon. In the Soul Cairn,” Paarthurnax said softly. “Kaan Sahrot Monah, do not tell me you met Durnehviir.”

“You know him?” Eola gasped, sudden relief sweeping through her at the thought she might actually get answers. Paarthurnax nodded.

“Yes, Yol-Ah. Most know his fate. He dealt in forbidden arts and paid the price. Eternal servitude to the Inne-se-Ziil. A salutary tale to us all. And now you tell me he made a bargain with Ziizahro-Meyus in order to return.”

Paarthurnax had turned to glare at Cicero here, and Cicero capered about, giggling.

“Yes! Vo dilon, vo alok-yun,” Cicero squealed… at least until he saw the way Paarthurnax was glaring at him. “Um. That is what he said. Paarthurnax. Nice Paarthurnax. Follower of the Way of the Voice. Sir. Um.”

“Ziizahro _Zok-Meyus!_ ” Paarthurnax actually growled at him. “You stupid, stupid joor!”

That was not good, and Eola choked back a lump in her throat, wondering whether to push Cicero off the cliff herself or let Paarthurnax do it, or haul him up before her father instead and let Madanach have the fun.

“Paarthurnax?” Eola managed to get out. “Please tell me what's going on?”

“Your ahmul is more foolish than even I thought,” Paarthurnax growled, turning his attention back to her. “He very nearly risked everything. As it is… Laat Kogaan Akatosh. For one of the Dov to choose that path… None do so unless they have no choice left to them.”

Kogaan Akatosh. Kogaan… Eola had heard that before, second-hand but she'd heard it.

“Durnehviir said that to Cicero,” Eola mused. “That he had the meyriid but not the kogaan. Is this linked?”

“In a way,” Paarthurnax sighed. “Sit, both of you. This will involve some explaining.”

So they did, and Paarthurnax settled in for a lengthy explanation.

“Laat Kogaan Akatosh,” Paarthurnax said in a low voice. “The last way out for a Dov whose life has become unbearable. We do not become ill, we do not age, we can be killed and our souls consumed by an enemy, but few choose to die that way. Nevertheless, there are always those who lose faith. Those whose decisions have trapped them in a life so bleak, they can see no way out save through death and rebirth. Vo alok-yun vothni dilon. No new life unless it be through death. It is not a path of honour, save to regain some after losing your own.”

Silence, and while Eola was not from a background where honour was terribly important, Reachman culture favouring survival through any means necessary, Cicero had taken at least some of his father's beliefs to heart, and Eola felt his hand sneak into hers.

“He had lost everything in the Soul Cairn,” Cicero whispered. “He just wanted to go home but could see no way out. Eola, this is sad!”

It was, but what this meant for her kids, Eola had no idea.

“So what does it do,” Eola asked, ever the witch, and a witch could hear about nothing without immediately wanting to know what it did and how it worked. “What does it mean for us?”

“A Dovah partaking of Akatosh's Last Blessing voluntarily surrenders his body entirely and his soul to the mercy of Akatosh,” Paarthurnax said softly, almost reverently. “It is a final death, and that Dovah is no more… but there is a chance for the soul to be reborn, at the genazend, that is, pleasure, of Akatosh. As a new Dovah… or a Dovahkiin.”

Eola turned to look at Cicero, whose eyes had lit up with the same excitement she was feeling, and both turned to Paarthurnax, eager to hear more.

“Does this mean one of our babies is Dragonborn?” Cicero asked, practically vibrating with excitement. “Only… did they eat Durnehviir?” Cicero's face fell as he spoke, sadness in his voice at Durnehviir being truly gone.

“No, Ziizahro,” Paarthurnax said gently. “Your kiir is Dragonborn, yes… but not before you brought Durnehviir to it. A grown human with Dovah Sos can be united with the soul of a Dovah with no form, but only with Kogaan Akatosh, the blessing of our father. However, the same is not true for one of Dovah Sos whose ziil, soul, is not yet fully formed. A kiir vokiin, one as yet unborn, who has Dovah Sos in their veins, they do not need Kogaan Akatosh to become Dovahkiin. If the unbodied soul of a Dovah comes into contact with an unformed soul of a joor vokiin, the two can merge.”

“Merge??” Eola said, not reassured by this. “What do you mean they merge??”

“The Dovah's soul becomes part of the joor,” Paarthurnax said, shrugging. “The joor is born resembling its human parents, often its personality resembles theirs, but it will have the gift of the Thu'um. It will be Dovahkiin… but it will be its own person. It will not be Durnehviir, although some of his interests, shadows of his memory, might remain. Your kiir is still your kiir, Yol-Ah. But you can expect the Thu'um, the gifts of the Dovahkiin… and it is possible they might show an interest in the forbidden arts of necromancy. Yol-Ah. Yol-Ah, why are you laughing?”

“Nothing!” Eola gasped, weeping as she started to laugh. “Nothing, it's fine, it is! Only… only a Thu'um-wielding necromancer! That's… that's adorable! They'll fit right in! Cicero, did you hear that? One of our babies is going to have power to rival Auntie Keirine's!”

Cicero squealed, finally happy and relieved at last to have things back to normal, and for a few precious seconds, he and Eola just beamed at each other, holding hands, things between them finally restored… until Paarthurnax spoke again.

“It is not that simple, Yol-Ah. Yes, your Dovahkiin child will be well… but you said you were pregnant with two.”

Eola stopped, letting Cicero go as foreboding settled over. Yes, twins, and in her worry over the proto-Dovahkiin, she'd barely given a thought to the other one. Except now she was starting to wonder if perhaps she should. 

“Serana said there were two, why,” Eola whispered. “What about the other one?? They'll be dragon-blooded too, right?”

“Yes,” Paarthurnax said quietly. “But the Dov share little and we do not like rivals. Yol-Ah, there may be two now, but I do not think that will last. I think your Dovah child will kill the other in the womb.”

“Oh,” Eola whispered, feeling her heart sink… but she'd heard of it happening in twin pregnancies, of one twin consuming the other. Sometimes it wouldn't work and they'd be born conjoined – these were invariably sacrificed to Namira when born to the Forsworn. But sometimes it would go unnoticed… but every Hag had a story of someone looking normal but having extra body parts inside, or just the secret coding manual of two people, not one. That was considered lucky, a sign of Namira's blessing on the survivor. Eola had long wondered if she was one such, a Twin-Eater. To be mother to one… she felt sad about the doomed one, but for the survivor to be a Namira-blessed Twin-Eater Dragonborn necromancer… Eola felt that reward worth it. She'd never been the sentimental type.

Sadly for her, her husband was.

“NOOOOO!!!” Cicero howled, wringing his hands. “Paarthurnax, that cannot be, siblings cannot eat siblings! That is wrong! There must be something!”

“Ziizahro. It is the inevitable way of such things,” Paarthurnax said sadly. “I am sorry. Alas, the only hope I could offer is if you were to find another disembodied Dovah soul, allowing the other to be Dragonborn as well. And you could not kill a dragon to do this – your first child would just consume the soul. You would have to seek out a dragon desperate enough to do this willingly.”

“THAT IS NO USE TO US, WHERE WOULD WE FIND A DRAGON SOUL NOT IN A DRAGON BODY – wait,” Cicero stopped, inspiration dawning as his face lit up. “Elisif! Pretty Elisif must have excess souls! We could ask her if she could donate one! She must have at least one she does not need. She could give it to us! Save our baby!”

This struck Eola as unlikely to work, to put it mildly, but even though Cicero was Champion of Namira, he didn't understand her ways like Eola did, and when it came to family, Cicero was damn near immovable on the topic. To kill a brother or sister was to invoke the Wrath of Sithis, and Cicero would have it no other way. Ordinarily, Eola liked his loyalty… but there were times it was damn inconvenient. Couldn't he just let it go? Eola didn't want to end up getting so wrapped up into saving a doomed baby that the other one suffered.

But Eola saw the desperate hope in her husband's eyes and realised she couldn't be the one to tell him this.

“Well, Paarthurnax, do you think it could work?” Eola asked.

“Hmm. Perhaps,” the old Dovah said, and he sounded curious at least, which was something. “A Dovah trapped in a Dovahkiin's head might choose the Laat Kogaan as a way out, rebirth as a Dovahkiin themselves. You are the daughter of a king, no? Ensure the Dovah in question knows they could inherit a kingdom one day, it will no doubt sweeten your offering. I can make no promises, but yes, it is worth trying.”

Cicero squealed and cuddled Eola, all cheerful again. Eola smiled and petted him, but inwardly she worried. She hoped this idea worked because if Elisif couldn't help, she had a feeling Cicero would never get over it… or forgive a child who'd killed their sibling.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Elisif walked down the corridor, solid stone walls hung with tapestries of her exploits, looking like Castle Dour except that castle's corridors didn't roam as far as these. Solid metal doors appeared every so often, each sealed shut, holding back a prisoner too dangerous to ever release. Cidhna Mine had nothing on this prison.

But every prison has a king, and the king of this particular prison reminded Elisif more of the one who'd escaped Cidhna Mine than she cared to admit. A king who wasn't shut away behind a steel door in the darkness but lounging behind bars in a room outfitted like a lord's bedchamber. He even had a library, although Elisif rarely saw him reading. Hardly surprising, given where she'd found him.

Why she'd treated this one so much better than the others, she didn't know. She'd bested him in combat, and the fight with him had been so much more personal than any of the others. None of the others had sent underlings to try and kill her and her baby in her own palace after all. By all rights she should have shut him up in the very depths, or destroyed him for good.

But she kept him around, and for some reason, she couldn't stay away. And so she dreamed, night after night after night. The Last Dragonborn couldn't keep away from the First.

He was lounging on the bed, gold and blue robes splayed out around him, identical to the version she'd gifted her husband, golden mask sitting on the bedstand, revealing a face she'd never seen on him in life. Brown hair the same length as Argis's, one human blue eye, and one golden dragon eye surrounded by scales, and a predatory smile unsettlingly like Madanach's. Miraak the First Dragonborn was a handsome man.

He noticed she was there, grinned and sat up, almost leaping off the bed.

“Good evening, beloved. I knew you missed me.”

“Fuck you,” Elisif hissed, glaring at him. “I'm here to make sure you haven't escaped, that's all. Don't read anything into it!”

“So you say,” Miraak smirked, coming to stand behind the bars. “And yet here you are, coming back to see me. Time after time after time.” He tilted his head, still that unsettling grin on his face. “Are you pregnant yet?”

“No, and this is none of your business!” Elisif snapped at him. “Maia's barely a year old, Madanach and I agreed we'd wait...”

“ _Fuck him!_ ” Miraak growled, slamming a hand against the bars of his cage. “He's dying, an old man, a fading power, rotting away from the inside. You know it, I know it. He has a handful of years left, if that. You are Dov, you are in your _prime!_ You are young, beautiful, glorying in your strength. You are a magnificent creature, Yolaazov. Put him away and take a lover. Get with child again. Your servant-to-be-mounted, your Aar-Goz, he will suffice.”

“No!” Elisif cried, horrified. “I'm not sleeping with Argis!”

Miraak roared in frustration, and pounded the bars again, before turning away and kicking his chair across the cell.

“Let me out,” Miraak said quietly. “Open the door, come in, lie with me, let me have you. You do not know love until you have loved another of the Dov.”

“Don't bring love into this!” Elisif shouted. “I do NOT love you!!!” 

Her Thu'um rattled the entire cell, and Miraak groaned, sinking into a nearby padded chair.

“Every time you do that, you arouse me,” Miraak said matter-of-factly, and Elisif shuddered in horror and backed away.

“You are vile,” Elisif said, revolted, and Miraak just shrugged.

“Then use my soul for a Rotmulaag and end me, Yolaazov,” Miraak said, apparently unbothered by the idea of no longer existing.

“No,” Elisif found herself saying.

“Why not.”

“Because...” Elisif couldn't answer, except to admit that he wasn't far wrong. He was attractive. His voice crept down her spine and enticed her. She couldn't stop picturing herself naked and underneath him while he pounded into her and a traitorous little voice whispered that didn't she want a man in his prime, a man who could get hard more often and on command, one who wasn't tired all the time like Madanach was lately, and didn't she want another baby? Didn't she want to be pregnant again, big with child, swollen breasts and round belly, while Miraak's hand cupped his unborn child…

“I'm not having this conversation,” Elisif snapped, turning on her heel and walking away. Best not to think about him any more, best not to think about the one other person who understood what it was to be Dovahkiin.

_Fuck you, Miraak, I choose every day to be a good person, to be a good queen. You'd take over the world and enslave us all._

“I could never enslave you,” Miraak called after her. “You could always throw me off. Damn it, Yolaazov, can't you see we're made for each other?”

Elisif stopped, took a deep breath and then turned around.

“My name,” Elisif said coldly, “is _Elisif_. And I'm in love with Madanach, who is a better man and a better ruler than you ever were. And if _he'd_ been the one trapped in Apocrypha for eons, _his_ escape plan would have SUCCEEDED!”

With that, Elisif turned and walked away, determinedly not looking back. Why she couldn't kill him, she couldn't, or wouldn't, admit. But damned if she'd ever let him win.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Elisif opened her eyes to darkness and the sound of coughing, the same horrendous, chesty coughing that seemed to be a feature of her life these days as her husband coughed himself awake before collapsing on the bed, exhausted.

Elisif said nothing, but somehow he knew she was awake.

“I'm sorry, cariad, did I wake you?” Madanach said softly, turning to face her.

“No, I – I don't think so,” Elisif whispered, rather glad to not be arguing with Miraak at least. Edging nearer, she snuggled into Madanach's arms, and if he wasn't the strong, handsome man Miraak was, he always made her feel safe.

“Was it the dream again,” Madanach said, voice low and a little forbidding. He'd known something was wrong the first night she'd been back from Solstheim all those months ago, and eventually she'd given in and told him everything. He'd been furious at first that she'd not eaten Miraak's soul… but Elisif had burst into tears and Madanach couldn't stay angry, not at his pretty young wife. So he gritted his teeth and bore it, but he'd never exactly liked the idea of an eternally handsome rival living in his wife's head.

Elisif nodded, dreading the response, but to her surprise he just sighed and stroked her hair.

“Was he on at you to take a lover and get pregnant again?” Madanach said wearily. Elisif nodded, closing her eyes and trying not to think about just how much she actually wanted another baby. The sad thing was, Madanach wasn't entirely opposed but he wasn't as strong as he once was. Her husband of two years was visibly ageing and being father to a small baby was wearing him out. Elisif truly had no idea what to do about any of it.

“Maybe we should find you one – not Argis,” Madanach said, and Elisif's eyes flew open.

“What?” Elisif whispered, trying to think if he'd actually just said that or if she was still dreaming.

“Maybe you should take a lover,” Madanach said, sounding tired and defeated and old and just giving in. “Someone who can give you what you need. Someone who'll father another baby for you. Someone who can take care of you when I'm gone.”

“No!” Elisif cried, before he could even finish, tears springing to her eyes. “You're not dead yet! And I don't want anyone else, I want you!”

Madanach closed his eyes and held her closer.

“The coughing is getting worse, every winter I get sick, that mine has ruined my breathing, and I don't know how many years I have left,” Madanach said quietly. “I've already told Argis he's to protect Maia with his life when I go, be the man in her life if I can't be, and to make sure any stepfather she gets is good to her. Had a word with Cicero too. Little fucker's got his uses.”

“Don't you – Mara's mercy, Madanach,” Elisif whispered. “You aren't dead!”

“No one lives forever,” Madanach said softly. “And I'm not young.”

“Madanach, stop it, I love you!” Elisif whispered, memories of Torygg's funeral coming back to her, of her howling over his body and she couldn't go through this again, she just couldn't.

“I love you too,” Madanach said roughly, rolling her on to her back to kiss her with all the ferocity he could muster. “By the gods, I love you.”

Elisif kissed him and wrapped her legs around him, and while Madanach was ageing, he was very much not dead, not yet. Banishing thoughts of Miraak from her mind, she gave herself up to her husband. Her marriage was far from over just yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exciting, isn't it? I felt it a bit sad to have one DB twin and the other not, and then I wondered who else might want freedom at any price, even death. And then I had a bright idea. It may of course be a terrible one, but that's half the fun.
> 
> I admit to playing fast and loose with the lore a bit (no change there) but it's always been a headcanon of mine that the dragon soul absorption only happens automatically when the dragon dying was killed by or at least was attacking the Dragonborn - it's something done by a victorious dragon to their slain foe. Where the Dragonborn just happens to be nearby at the time and the dragon was non-hostile to them, soul absorption does not have to happen. From there, it was just a matter of wondering if it could happen voluntarily ever, and under what circumstances.
> 
> Dovah translations:
> 
> Ziizahro Zok-Meyus - Cicero Most-Foolish
> 
> Kaan Sahrot Monah - Mighty Mother Kyne. Ever wondered how dragons curse? Now you know.
> 
> Laat Kogaan Akatosh - Akatosh's Final Blessing. Strikes me that even a race of immortals might want some way out so I've written in a voluntary kill switch for Dov who truly see no hope and want another chance. Few take it.
> 
> Inne-se-Ziil - Masters of Souls, aka the Ideal Masters.
> 
> Vokiin - unborn


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ancestor Glade awaits, but given the new Jarl is someone with no reason to love Eola or the Reach, Eola's not looking forward to it. However, it appears the main danger isn't from the Jarl's forces...

Eola had always forgotten just how far Falkreath was from anywhere, and from the Reach in particular. True, Markarth was also isolated, but it had portals, and a carriage service and managed to feel much closer to Whiterun and Solitude than it actually was. Falkreath on the other hand? Miles from anywhere and about the only good thing about it was that at least you weren't up to your backside in ice. The countryside, in fact, was quite nice.

The people, on the other hand… Eola could swear this entire Hold had it in for her, as was evidenced by the fact that they'd passed by Half-Moon Mill just as the sun was coming up, only to find the placed roped off, the door of the millhouse hanging off by its hinges, and guards wearing the new regalia of Falkreath Hold, the silver deer head on blue but now with a small circle between its antlers that on inspection turned out to be golden goat horns on green. Someone just couldn't let go, could they.

“Halt! Identify yourselves!” one of the guards snapped, sword drawn as he approached.

Weary sighs from Athis and Cicero both, and Eola stepped forward, resigned to the inevitable.

“I'm the Harbinger of Jorrvaskr,” Eola sighed. “Passing through Falkreath on official business from the High Queen.” She always found reminding Nords she was Harbinger now generally resulted in a marked decline in snide remarks. Elisif's name also helped. But not apparently in Falkreath… not during a murder investigation.

The guard did at least sheathe his sword.

“Oh. Harbinger. Sorry, didn't recognise you,” the guard said gruffly, which was a total fucking lie because literally the entire province knew who Cicero was by this point. The Fool of Jorrvaskr was notorious everywhere. But Eola kept her peace. Nothing was ever gained by antagonising Hold guards in public. “Do you know anything about this?” He gestured at the crime scene, and Eola was surprised to see Faleen herself there, standing over a pile of ash and shaking her head. Whatever had gone on, it must have been something for the housecarl herself to be involved.

“No, we just got here,” Eola said, casting her eyes over the mill and trying to remember who'd lived here. A young couple, kept themselves to themselves, quiet, didn't get out much… bandits? Did they have enemies maybe? “We've been in the Reach lately, also visiting the High Queen. She had something she needed investigating in her own Hold.”

“I'll let the housecarl explain that,” the guard grunted, motioning them forward. “If you really are on the High Queen's business, maybe you can help. Housecarl! The Harbinger's passing through. Wondered if you wanted to speak to her.”

“Not unless she was here sometime last night,” Faleen said, making her way over. “Valdr was here last night placing an order for timber on Runil's behalf so he could refurbish the chapel, and he got back to the inn around ten. Next thing we know, we've got hunters from the lodge arriving in town in the early hours telling of fighting near here. We thought it might be bandits… or rogue elements from the Reach. But no. Judging from the dust, I'd say it's vampires.”

Vampires. Attacking an innocent pair of mill owners. Low even by Harkon's standards.

“Now that's a coincidence,” Eola purred, sensing an opportunity. “Queen Elisif's organising a fightback. We have a lead on who's organising all this. I imagine you'll be hearing from her directly in time, but if you've got some men and women with weapon skills and a desire to serve their Queen and country, you could do worse than send them to fight. Send them to Castle Dour, Captain Aldis can point them in the right direction.”

“So I heard,” Faleen said, pursing her lips. “Her steward's messengers came a few days ago, loudly proclaiming we were not true Nords if we turned down the opportunity to abandon home and hearth to chase vampires. Half the Hold's talking about it. I swear, Eola, the High Queen needs to remember her Jarls made her Queen, not the Divines. She's not actually a god.”

“She knows,” Eola said cheerfully. “She knows her duty when she sees it. And it's her duty to protect all Skyrim, particularly when we're being savaged by vampires. You don't have people to spare, you don't have people… but remember, this isn't some vanity project. This is a strike at the very people who caused this murder scene. You want to not have to go over any more murder scenes like this one? You'll let me go about my business in Falkreath without any trouble, if you do nothing else, and if you can spare any soldiers, even better. Queen Elisif will remember who helped.”

And who didn't, but she didn't need to belabour _that_ point. Faleen knew it all too well. All the Reach did. Igmund was fortunate to have got Falkreath out of the whole thing. And Nenya, but that was another matter entirely.

“I… will mention it to the Jarl, Harbinger,” Faleen sighed. “Igmund's not completely unreasonable and he does see the danger. And if I'm honest, rather the High Queen dealing with this than that Isran. He was here yesterday with his Dawnguard. Man sees vampires everywhere. I had to get Runil in to convince him there were no vampires at court. At least Elisif's sensible and willing to listen to reason. Way I hear it, the Dawnguard have killed almost as many as the vampires. He says they were thralls.”

Faleen didn't sound convinced and Eola didn't blame her. After meeting Isran, she'd decided the man was capable of anything, and hadn't Argis voiced concerns? He must have had to deal with complainants in person, and read letters from the other Jarls.

“We'll deal with this,” Eola promised. “And with organised vampire predation gone, I don't think Elisif will see any further need for the Dawnguard to receive any more official patronage, do you?”

“I hope you're right,” Faleen said dubiously. “Go on, go about your business. Keep to the law and Falkreath has no problem with you.”

Eola took tight hold of Cicero's hand and nodded politely, before heading for Falkreath itself. Between Volkihars, Dawnguard and Jarls with a grudge, Eola had had enough of Falkreath already.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

They'd rested for the day in Falkreath Sanctuary, the one time home of the Dark Brotherhood, left sealed but otherwise still intact. Elisif had decreed it should be left alone and forgotten, lest the memory of the past glorify that which was the opposite of glorious. That suited Cicero just fine – he'd gone in and made the place into a little home from home and now it was a safe house and cache for members of the Blades. 

“We're staying here,” Athis said, nose wrinkling. “In the old Dark Brotherhood headquarters.”

“Yes!” Cicero squealed, bouncing down the stairs like he knew every step by heart, lighting the braziers as he did so. “Do not worry, brother, we have cleaned all the blood up.”

“That's not what I-” Athis gave up trying to reason with Cicero and turned to Eola. “We can't stay in the inn?”

“There's not enough room for four of us there, and given the current climate, it's probably not the best idea for me to bring two vampires into a town where the Jarl bitterly resents my entire family, and indeed country, and will be watching our every move, is it?” Eola pointed out. “So, seeing as we've got this place handy, we're using it. Athis, don't look at me like that, they didn't do any murders here. Or any dark rituals. This was their Sanctuary, their home, where assassins chilled out and relaxed after a hard night's stabbing.”

“Yes!” Cicero called back cheerfully. “Cicero doesn't think anyone died here before we came and Purified them.”

“Wait, you and Cicero killed the last people to use this place… and they were a bunch of murderous assassins?” Serana asked, following with wide-eyes. She'd been unnerved enough by the creepy skull door, and the stained glass window in the main hall just cemented her opinion of the place. “Was that place in Dawnstar Cicero and I crashed in one of theirs as well?”

Hesitation and Eola's eyes slipped inexorably to Cicero, who shrugged and nodded.

“Yes. A long time ago,” Cicero said quietly. “It was disused for years before Cicero read of it in the Brotherhood's letters and found it. Now there is no Brotherhood. So Cicero uses the Sanctuaries. Someone should.”

“They really really don't – never mind,” Athis sighed, seeing Cicero was not to be reasoned with on this one. And yet he could sort of see what Cicero meant. Athis had cleared out his fair share of bandit and necromancer lairs before now, but this place was different. It felt different. Felt cared for, in a way a bandit camp rarely did. This felt more like a home, felt like those who had lived here had cared about the place, and each other. Most bandit caves did not contain stained glass signs of devotion to a higher power – even if it was an evil higher power. Well, Boethiah and Mephala weren't exactly wholesome, were they? All the same, this had been the Dark Brotherhood's home. Hard to just settle in in a home of murderers.

But Serana was either too tired to worry, or too used to living alongside monsters to care, and wasted no time in curling up in one of the beds, so Athis supposed he should probably do likewise. They did need a place to rest, and this was surprisingly well outfitted. And Eola was right – with the Jarl not well-disposed towards Eola at the best of times, and with everyone paranoid about vampires, now was not the time to make themselves vulnerable in the town tavern. With Harkon attacking indiscriminately, and Isran's Dawnguard fanning the flames by attacking people who may or may not be thralls under vampiric mind control, Skyrim felt like a country on the edge. Athis was just thankful that Elisif remained a firm believer in the rule of law and things like trials and evidence, and not evidence procured by torture either, and hadn't given the Dawnguard full reign in the matter. As it was, from what Faleen was saying, the Jarls of Skyrim weren't terribly happy about Isran and friends coming in and causing trouble, and were relieved to have the backing of their High Queen. One thing united Skyrim, and that was that everyone respected their Dragonborn Queen. Who was presently relying on them to find Auriel's Bow and help deal with Harkon. It was quite the responsibility.

_We won't let you down, High Queen._

Quite when a Dunmer of House Redoran had started feeling loyal to a Nord High Queen, Athis couldn't have said. Was it first meeting her as a young adventurer looking nervous and terrified and a bit out of her depth, but nevertheless skilled at dragonslaying if nothing else? Or again after learning who she really was, at the Battle of Whiterun during which he discovered the woman did genuinely care about ordinary people and was definitely braver than everyone thought? Perhaps it was Elisif returning to Jorrvaskr with his old friend Aranea in her entourage, freely associating with non-Nords as friends and apparently not being bothered who they worshipped as long as their conduct was honourable. And then there'd been her allying with the bloody Forsworn of all people and righting a generations-old wrong with one controversial treaty and then marrying the feared Reach-King himself. Who'd turned out to be not quite the Dark Lord everyone said he was, and certainly as far as the Dawnguard were concerned, had been turning them back at the borders, tersely informing them the ReachGuard had this under control, thank you very much.

High Queen Elisif had turned out to be an odd mix of compassion, bravery and a pragmatism that made use of whatever was at her disposal, taking what was there and putting it to use in a way that made you feel like you were more than you'd thought you were. No wonder half the country was a bit in love with her. 

And so Athis lay down his head in what had once been a den of murderers, and decided not to ask questions or think too hard about why Cicero felt so sentimental about the place despite having gleefully massacred its inhabitants. They had a job to do, and Skyrim's safety depended on them doing it well.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“Are we there yet?” Serana sighed as she trudged up the mountain trail after Eola and Cicero, Athis bringing up the rear.

“I think so,” Eola answered, frowning at the map, a magelight gleaming over her shoulder as flakes of snow floated past her, the snowline not far away now. “Dexion said the entrance was in a cave just off the trail starting south of Falkreath, almost right on the snowline – it can't be far away.”

“YOL!” 

Cicero, bouncing up ahead and making the most of his new found gift by breathing fire every so often to light the way ahead. Never mind that he had a knack for Alteration spells and could cast magelights. No, in Cicero's mind, the best way of lighting the way ahead in the dark and the steadily increasing snowfall was breathing fire.

“I swear to Mephala, Cicero, if that starts an avalanche...” Athis warned him sternly, and Cicero had the nerve to giggle.

“Brother, there are hardly any landslides on this path, also it is the wrong time of year.”

“It's spring, the snow and ice in the mountains has thawed and if it's still there in any amount, your Thu'um could dislodge it,” Athis snapped. “It's _exactly_ the right time of year. Cicero, stop that.”

Cicero was now pouting at Athis, eyes big and wide and his lower lip jutting out, and frankly it looked ridiculous on a forty-something but since when had Cicero cared about that? (Back when Cheydinhal Sanctuary was still standing and the Brotherhood still had a Listener, but no one else other than Eola knew that.)

“Really. Stop it. You're a grown man,” Athis sighed, before turning to Eola in a desperate appeal for aid here. Eola sympathised, but she had more pressing concerns, such as finding this glade before they got snowed in. It had to be up here somewhere.

“Hey, I think that's it!” Serana cried, vampire night vision enabling her to see what Eola and Cicero hadn't yet seen. “Look, up ahead, there's a cave!”

That gave them all a new lease of energy, and all four raced up the hill and dashed inside. Inside turned out to be an overgrown, dimly-lit cave which didn't seem to go anywhere, in fact the only source of light was a tunnel of sorts that seemed to be up on a ledge, only reachable by following a path to the ledge opposite and crossing over by means of a fallen tree that looked half-rotten and liable to collapsing at any minute. Needless to say, Cicero skipped over it without even blinking and stood on the other side, cheerfully waiting for the others to follow.

“You must commit to it wholeheartedly!” Cicero called to them, fairly bouncing with enthusiasm. “You will only fall off if you hesitate!”

“Impending broken ankle in five,” Serana muttered, staring down into the darkness beneath. But she took a deep breath and made the attempt, and Eola followed, with Athis bringing up the rear, and with Cicero patting them on the back and congratulating them on their grace and dexterity, they made their way into the glade, light inviting them further down the passageway, warm golden light more like sunlight than anything else… but it was night.

Cicero skipped ahead, singing to himself, turning a corner and emerging from the passageway, stopping dead and squealing.

“Eola!!! EOLAAA!!!!! Look, _loooook!!!_ Isn't it _pretty!_ ”

Eola followed him out and stared in amazement at the sight before her. The cave was open to the sky, a vast underground grove with silver-barked pink-leaved trees that seemed to radiate light, and streams cascading down the cliffs towards the grove at the bottom, and the whole thing gleaming in the starlight, thanks to a pillar of light in the very centre of the cave that lit the whole thing up. Whether it was coming from the stars or emanating from the ground, Eola had no idea, but she could see the hole in the roof it was allegedly coming from, and it showed a clear sky with stars that bore little resemblance to the clouds outside. She couldn't recall a beam of light anywhere on the mountain either, which meant the light likely came from the grove itself. Lovely. A glowing, pretty grove that had already entranced Cicero. Eola distrusted it.

“Oh wow!” Serana breathed. “Look at it, it's beautiful!”

“You're not wrong,” Athis murmured, enthralled. Eola could only survey it with a weary sigh, appreciating the surface beauty, but even something as pretty as this had to have the rot hiding underneath. Some of the plants would have fungi on their roots, the soil would be full of bacteria, if you died down here, your body would rot as surely as if you dropped dead in the streets. Maybe there were even vermin here. A witch could hope. 

All the same, it felt calm, peaceful even. Possibly even welcoming. The atmosphere didn't feel hostile, so Eola decided even a child of Namira was welcome here. So she followed her husband in, took his arm and smiled as he led her onwards, marvelling at everything.

“So where's this draw knife then?” Athis asked as they reached the central glade at the bottom of the cavern. “Dexion said it'd be here.”

A two-handled knife, left ceremonially in a sacred stone – in, not on, which was strange unless you remembered Reachman tales of sacred adder stones, often called Hag stones by the ignorant, which were stones with holes worn naturally in the middle and said to be a way of warding off dark magic, or a source of healing and fertility for anyone who was passed through the hole.

And oh look, there was one right ahead, a round stone with a hole in the centre and a two-handled knife nestling in the centre.

Cicero had skipped forward but did not touch it, just looking and cooing and motioning for Eola to have a look. Neither vampire seemed keen to touch it, which meant it was down to her. A child of Namira performing a rite of the Moth Priests. Would wonders never cease?

So Eola reached for the knife, admiring the way it almost seemed to glow, reflecting the unearthly light that seemed to be everywhere, hands curling around the twin handles… and then it was in her hands, the glow gone and it was just a knife. A knife useless for battle because it had no point, and it wasn't the most efficient for carving meat either. Or anything else for that matter – you could tell it was a religious implement of Aetherius. Daedric goods were far more practical.

“So where's the canticle tree, then?” Eola sighed, and Athis nodded at one of the silver-barked trees with the pink leaves. 

“Must be one of them, there's no other trees here.”

Eola sighed, made her way over to one and started shaving bark off the tree, and all right, the knife did sort of work for this. But shaving anything else? Forget it. 

“Got the bark,” Eola sighed. “I don't need to chant anything, do I?”

“I don't think so,” Serana said, trying to recall the details of the rite. “Dexion said to wield the bark and the moths would come to you.”

“There's some over there!” Cicero said, pointing at a flock of moths fluttering on the far side of the cave. “Take the bark to them, and see if they run away!”

When Cicero had ever seen moths running, Eola had to wonder, but she said nothing and gave it a go, canticle bark clutched in her hand. 

_I'd rather have a dark, dank dungeon with rats and spiders if I'm perfectly honest._ All this flitting around in a pretty glade with pretty trees and pretty yellow flowers and moths fluttering around her like she was some sort of fairy princess was just not her. But Cicero was gazing up at her adoringly and Athis was smiling at her and Serana was giving her encouraging looks, so Eola put up with it.

“Hey. Moths. I've got… bark.”

And to her eternal surprise, the moths descended, fluttering around her and she could swear she heard singing, and yes this was definitely getting a bit Fairytale Princess for her liking, and not the traditional Reach fairy tales either, where fairies had sharp teeth and claws and liked to kill unwary humans, or at least toy with them. No, this was the full on anodyne Imperial/Breton sap that Elisif had grown up with and was probably even now telling to Maia as a bedtime story.

“It is working, it is working!” Cicero squealed, and Eola realised horrified that his mother had probably also told him stories of fairy princesses who frolicked through the forest, singing to the birds and animals who would flock after them as if in some sort of trance. Namira help her, Eola would have to supervise the bedtime stories, she could see this now. No fairytale princesses with seductive powers over the beasts of the forest for Eola's kids unless they turned out to be a witch planning to build an army to crush her enemies.

“They seem to really like you!” Serana laughed, impressed. “And is it me or are you starting to… glimmer?”

“WHAT?” Eola yelped, staring down at herself in dismay, and sure enough, the wretched glow that suffused everything here was now starting to appear on her as well. “Oh no. No one told me I'd glow!”

“You look lovely!” Cicero enthused, until a glare from her cut him off and he sidled behind Athis, who at least looked sympathetic.

“How you look's not the important part,” Athis said gently. “Let's find some more moths and see what happens, hmm?”

So they explored the glade, Cicero bouncing and squeaking and pointing out moths, all of which would descend on Eola as soon as they saw her. Soon she had a veritable swarm of moths circling her, the glow was getting stronger and Eola could swear she could hear them humming. She'd thought old Dexion was crazy but it seemed he'd been on to something.

Then it happened. A column of light shot up from the central glade, beaming into the sky, and all four of them gasped. 

“I think that's what we were waiting for, come on!” Serana cried, and Eola followed, eager to see if this would actually work. So she positioned herself in the light, took the Scrolls from the others, remembering Dexion's instructions to read the Blood Scroll first.

Light blazed into her vision, but the moths didn't leave, drawing closer and the strange hum intensifying, and suddenly Eola knew it all, words from all three Scrolls drawing together, layer upon layer, visions combining to reveal a map of Skyrim, the Karth winding its way across the landscape and the Wolf's Head of Solitude at the top and the Red Eagle of Markarth at the bottom, and by the tributary of the Karth long called the Darkfall River by the Reachmen, not far from Hag's End, and Eola knew that cave, had heard of it anyway, she didn't think there was anything there but there were stories of treasures, had been for centuries.

“Can you see anything?” Athis called. “I mean, any visions?”

_Have you gone blind,_ was likely what he meant, but Eola didn't think so. More importantly, she had the knowledge she was after.

“Yeah!” Eola cried. “It's in a cave in the Reach! We need to tell my father immediately – oof!”

Something struck her in the stomach, sending her staggering back… and then another hit her in the shoulder, and Eola fell to the ground, wondering if that was part of the ritual… and then she saw the crossbow bolts newly embedded in her.

“Oh,” Eola whispered, vaguely aware of Cicero's outraged howling, which swiftly changed into something far less human as jester became wolf and Cicero pounced to avenge his mate.

“For the Dawnguard!” one voice cried, and another cried “Die, vampire scum!”

_But we're with the High Queen!_ Eola wanted to cry, outraged and furious at the betrayal. _My FATHER is the Reach-King, he will have your entire order destroyed for this!_

But that wouldn't save her. Serana was running into battle, magic cutting into the Dawnguard ranks, resurrecting the troll that Cicero had already ripped the throat out of while her Destruction spells slowed them down enough for Cicero to pounce. Meanwhile Eola was lying on the floor, life ebbing out of her, and her babies, her poor doomed babies, but Namira would take care of them, Namira would claim them all, and she hoped the goddess would watch over Cicero too, he would need it.

“You're not dying.” Restoration magic poured into her as Athis held her, barely leaving her side. “You are _not_ going to die on me!”

“Athis,” Eola whispered, knowing she needed to tell him about the vision or all was lost. “Athis, the bow's in Darkfall Cave. Near… Druadach Redoubt. Da… knows it… Have to… tell Da...”

More magic, and then Athis was reaching for a potion. 

“I'll tell him,” Athis promised. “You focus on not dying.”

Another scream echoed round the cave, a scream cut off mid-wail as Cicero ripped the head off a Dawnguard, and a husky whined its last as an ice spike ended it. Athis held on to Eola, who'd closed her eyes, exhausted, aching all over and the magic not helping. So Eola let exhaustion claim her and gave up trying. She'd passed the knowledge on. That was the important thing. As for the rest, that was in Namira's hands now. Eola was officially done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was originally a bit bored with writing Ancestor Glade and then it occurred to me to make it a little more interesting and have the Dawnguard involved instead. I shall leave it up to the reader's imagination as to whether Isran disapproved of Elisif having vampire agents to the extent he'd order a hit on them in a hold where the Jarl didn't think much of the Reach, or whether a routine Dawnguard patrol saw two vampires and decided to eliminate them.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eola's injuries require urgent medical assistance, and where else to go but her kin in the Reach? Of course, once back in Markarth, certain other things become issues, due mainly to a concerned father realising one problem could solve another, and Elisif realising she has some tough decisions to make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing like a dramatic cliffhanger to end on, eh? Well, you'll be pleased to know Eola lived... and this chapter deals with all the ramifications. The first scene was going to be in the last one, but it seems to fit better thematically here.

Eola remembered very little of the next few days. They'd carried her back to the Falkreath Sanctuary, and then Athis and Serana had watched over her while Cicero had ridden on Arvak for Lost Valley Redoubt, and the very next day a squad of ReachGuard with some skilled healers had arrived and treated the wounds, removing the bolts, repairing tissues and organs, providing blood infusions straight into her veins and injecting her with powerful antinamirene drugs which apparently killed the namirene spirits that caused gangrene. There was definitely an irony in that and, high on painkillers, Eola swore she wouldn't mind being infected with namirene organisms.

“Hush, Brenyeen, you certainly would,” the young Reachwoman in charge scolded her. “Continue to follow all standard medical protocols, team, the Brenyeen's delirious and I'm not explaining to Madanach how she died on our watch.”

So Eola submitted to injections and surgery, and finally she was deemed well enough to be stretchered on to the supplies wagon and carted back to the Reach. She slept most of the way, secure enough in the Reach healers' ability to do their job, even if Cicero did keep wringing his hands and getting in the way.

When she finally woke up properly, she was in the room Madanach kept for her in the Keep in a forlorn hope she'd visit more often. Dimly lit, but definitely lit and it seemed her vision had survived. 

Next to the bed was her father, currently engaged in murmuring something to the small baby on his lap, a small baby who was the first to notice Eola was awake and promptly beamed at her and whispered “'Ola!”

“Yes, that's Eola,” Madanach murmured and Eola's heart constricted with the unfamiliar feeling of guilt as she heard the worry in his voice. “You need to be quiet, little one, Eola's not been well.”

“Hey,” Eola whispered, her voice rough and she was going to say something flippant but the look on Madanach's face stopped her.

“You're awake,” Madanach said softly. “Thank the gods. Eola, are you all right?”

_Yes, I'm fine._ Eola tried to sit up, but every muscle in her abdomen screamed at her and she promptly collapsed on the pillows.

“Don't try to move,” Madanach said swiftly, depositing Maia on the bed next to her and taking her hand in his. “Are you in pain? Should I call the healers?”

“No,” Eola managed to say. “I mean, a bit, but… I think I'll be OK?”

Madanach didn't say anything, just squeezing her hand and looking away.

“When they brought you in and told me what happened,” Madanach said quietly, and Eola felt the guilt pile on as it occurred to her she rarely saw him quite this emotional. 

“I'm sorry,” Eola whispered. “I didn't mean to worry you.”

“Not your fault,” Madanach growled, glaring into space. “When I get hold of Isran… I already wrote to Elisif and told her. I've asked how much we're willing to put up with in the name of saving our kingdoms. She's at Hag's End, looking after the Joint Task Force. Last I heard she'd already had something approaching a stand-up fight with Isran because she didn't put him in charge. I'm thinking this will give her the excuse she needs to cut him loose.”

“You're going to execute him?” Eola said hopefully. Madanach laughed bitterly.

“Would that I could but sadly we've no evidence the ones who attacked you had any idea who you were,” Madanach said, scowling. “It's possible they just saw two vampires with you and decided to deal with the problem.”

“Bastards,” Eola muttered, and Maia responded by crawling up towards Eola, babbling and looking concerned.

“Don't swear in front of your sister,” Madanach said firmly. 

“She's a baby?” Eola said, eyeing the little one up, wincing a little as Maia climbed on top of her, pouting at her.

“They grow up,” Madanach said, retrieving his baby and perching her on his lap, grinning down at her as Maia squealed and smiled up at him. “This one, for example, already recognises people, has names for a lot of them, and from the way she keeps babbling at me and her mother, is very keen on joining in conversations sooner rather than later. They grow up fast, Eola. One minute they're toddling around the camp experimenting with fire spells, and the next thing you know, they're fully grown and being ferried in with crossbow bolts poking out of them.” A stern look from Madanach, which was a little unfair, considering Eola hadn't asked to get shot by the Dawnguard.

“They took the bolts out back in Falkreath before I even got here,” Eola pointed out, and Madanach just shivered.

“Yes, which is why I had the joy of being presented with the bloodstained things on your arrival,” Madanach said gruffly. “Eola, is this going to happen a lot? You were lucky this time, you weren't far from the Reach, but if you'd been on a glacier in Winterhold or out in the more remote bits of the Rift? We can't be there to save you all the time.”

“Cicero and Athis will be,” Eola said stubbornly. “And I hardly ever get taken unawares. This time was different, I was doing a ritual. Da, I know where Auriel's Bow is!”

“Yes, Athis told me, and no, you aren't going,” Madanach said, capable of just as much stubbornness as Eola when required. “Look at you, you can barely sit upright. Athis said you'd said this bow was in Darkfall Cave near Druadach Redoubt. Eola, are you sure? Scrolls aren't easy to interpret, and we've scoured that cave before. Nothing there but spiders and an old mine.”

“It's there. I swear it,” Eola said, unmoving. “The Scrolls wouldn't lie! It was definitely there, and there's no other caves around there.”

Madanach sighed and seemed to capitulate. “If you say so, I will have it searched again. Serana wants to go, and Cicero and Athis both seem keen too. Kaie's willing to lead a party with that new bodyguard of hers, Borgakh – have you met Borgakh yet? She's a lovely girl with a right hook that could knock out a Briarheart. Borkul's her older brother.”

“Think you just told me all I need to know right there,” Eola said, grinning a little. Borkul had a little sister? This she had to see. “Has Cicero met her yet?”

“Yeah, and amazingly, he's actually behaving. He's been as nice as pie to her. Polite. Respectful. Keeping three feet away at all times. Heard him calling her ma'am the other day. She's not entirely sure what to make of him, but apparently men who know their place and aren't swinging their dicks about all the time are a refreshing change.”

“Now who's swearing in front of Maia,” Eola teased and Madanach just shrugged.

“She's got to learn words for it at some point,” Madanach said, apparently unbothered… at least until he looked a little bit awkward and coughed. “Er… maybe don't mention this to Elisif?”

Eola laughed and, loyal as ever, promised not to say a word. Then Elisif's name reminded her of something else, something forgotten in all the excitement.

“When's Elisif visiting?” Eola asked, hand going involuntarily to her stomach. “I, er, need to ask her something. It's important.” She had to be here soon, Hag's End was only a portal ride away, and Elisif didn't like being away from Maia for long.

“Tonight, why?” Madanach asked, surprised. “Eola? Something wrong?”

Yes, of course there was, Eola was going to have babies of her own in a few short months, and the presence of Maia sitting on her father's lap, wide-eyed and smiling at her, and definitely cute but also a lot of work, reminded her that her life was about to change forever. And she had to tell her father this.

“Did – did the healers give you a full report?”

Madanach scowled at this, narrowing his eyes.

“No. Something about you having put Cicero down as your next of kin, so they gave the full report to him and Athis rather than me,” Madanach said, clearly not pleased by this, but what did he expect?? She was married now, not a little girl any more. 

“Honestly, I was this close to issuing an official writ to compel them to give me the details,” Madanach continued, still clearly annoyed. “Nepos talked me out of it. Said you were going to be fine, so when you woke up, you could tell me the details. That man continues to be annoyingly sensible.”

“You'd be lost without him,” Eola whispered, smiling despite her nerves, and Madanach did, however grudgingly, admit he'd have difficulty running the kingdom without his steward.

“Anyway, you were saying something about your health report?” Madanach said, keen eyes returning to her. “Eola? Eola, what is it? Cariad, you look like you're about to cry.”

“Da, I'm pregnant,” Eola managed to get out. “Pretty sure the healers found out while they were examining me, which is why I didn't know if they'd told you… Da, I don't know anything about kids, what if it goes wrong, what if…?”

Madanach was staring at her, eyes widening and face still and he looked like he was about to cry.

“You're… are you sure?” he whispered. Eola nodded.

“Yeah, Serana found out and then I asked Keirine and she confirmed it and… Da? Oh no, Da, don't cry!”

Madanach was looking down, cuddling Maia with one hand while the other wiped at his eyes.

“I'm gonna be a granda,” he said gruffly, and Eola nodded, carefully pulling herself upright and reaching out to touch him.

“Yeah,” Eola said softly, touching his knee gently and Madanach responded by looking up, tears rolling down his cheek but a smile on his face like you wouldn't believe him capable of.

“My little girl, all grown up with a baby of her own,” Madanach said, about brimming over with pride, getting up and moving his chair closer before sitting right by the bed and cuddling Eola with his free arm, the other cuddling a baby who was staring confused at her father and sister who seemed, from her point of view, to have gone a bit mad.

“Dada?” Maia cried, tugging at her father's robes and then starting to babble and while the words made no sense, the tone was all too clear. Maia wanted to know what was going on.

“You're going to have a niece or nephew, little one!” Madanach told her. “Someone to play with, you'd like that, wouldn't you?”

Eola imagined she would, although Maia was staring up incomprehensibly at her father, still confused.

“I don't know what I'm doing,” Eola whispered, clinging to her father and finally feeling able to admit just how much it had all been weighing on her. With Cicero and Athis and Serana, she'd felt like an adult who knew what she was doing. Not so with Madanach. Especially seeing him with Maia and seeing how naturally it all seemed to come to him. “You make it look so easy!”

Laughter and Madanach grinned as he kissed her forehead. “Maia's kid eight, and the fifth baby I've had to wrangle. And it is not nearly as effortless as it looks. Especially now she's getting to that exploring stage, and suddenly you realise that if you put her down, she will not be where you left her...”

Well, obviously, kids moved around, didn't they? Except Eola hadn't really thought about it from the point of view of someone who was supposed to be looking after kids before, and she couldn't stop a frightened whimper escaping her lips. Madanach chuckled and cuddled her.

“Point is, I will not be judging you if you're having problems. We'll all help,” Madanach promised. “And Elisif's going to be ecstatic, wait till I tell her! Don't worry, I'll get some more servants in to help – you're raising it here, right?” He looked almost hopeful, and Eola didn't want to disappoint him, but the idea of living here, giving up being Harbinger, possibly losing Athis… Eola couldn't do it. Even if it meant lots of people on hand to raise her kids.

“I'm staying at Jorrvaskr,” Eola admitted. “Cicero and Athis know, we think the kids are Cicero's, you know, he had that little problem when taking the antifertility potions, so we told him he could stop...”

“Oh, don't remind me,” Madanach said, torn between laughing at the memory of Cicero's wailing and weariness at having to deal with the inevitable complaints from Cicero to the herbalists in Markarth who'd made the potions in the first place. “Hang on… kids? You're not expecting twins? Keirine could tell that??”

“Serana could,” Eola whispered. “When we were going to the Soul Cairn.” And so Eola ended up telling her father everything, how Serana had scanned them in preparation for offering a bit of their soul to the Ideal Masters (that alone made Madanach twitch), and then discovering she had two barely-formed souls inside her, which could only mean pregnancy… with twins. And then Eola decided what the hell, she might as well mention the whole Dragonborn thing, and so she told her father how Cicero had made a deal with a dragon who'd been trapped in the Soul Cairn and agreed to ferry its soul out… a soul which had promptly entered the body of one of the twins.

“So I talked to Keirine, and she reckoned it wasn't a plot of the Ideal Masters because they were furious, and I spoke to Paarthurnax, and he reckoned Dragonborns happened when Akatosh allowed a dragon soul to be born again by becoming one with a mortal… but if a dragon soul's discarnate, and it comes across an unborn child with the dragon blood… it doesn't need Akatosh's blessing. So, thanks to Cicero, looks like I've got a Dragonborn kid.”

“You've got a Dragonborn kid,” Madanach said faintly. Eola nodded, not sure how her father was taking this, but he'd married a Dragonborn, right? He couldn't be that prejudiced against them.

“My grandchild… Dragonborn,” Madanach said firmly. “A possible future King or Queen of the Reach. Dragonborn.”

“Um, yeah,” Eola said. “Unless Kaie has kids. And we think the dragon blood actually came from Cicero, believe it or not.”

“Kaie's thirty two years old and shown no inclination to find a husband, unless she finds one in the next few years, she's not likely to have kids of her own,” Madanach said brusquely. “Your twins are the future Heirs of the Reach, Eola. If you'd rather raise them at Jorrvaskr, I can't stop you, but you're not raising them alone. I will be sending a detachment of ReachGuard to help keep an eye on them… including a few people skilled with young children who can help out with the practicalities.”

Eola should be objecting, but to be honest, the promise of help was something of a relief, a lifeline to cling to. It was going to be all right, although the Jarl of Whiterun might object to a detachment of ReachGuard in the city. Still, that was what the High Queen was for, right? And Eola just knew Elisif would lose all sense of proportion over anything to do with babies.

“Thank you,” Eola whispered. “I love you, Da.”

“Love you too,” Madanach said quietly, kissing her hair and cuddling her again. “Is this why you wanted to talk to Elisif? You need another mother to talk to?”

“Sort of,” Eola whispered. “Da, there's something else...”

“Something _else?_ ” Madanach said, disbelieving and staring at her even as Maia started fussing and reaching up to play with his braids. “What else is there??”

“Paarthurnax thinks the Dragonborn twin will kill the other one,” Eola whispered. “That the other one will die. He says the only hope is to get another discarnate dragon soul who might be willing to make the other one Dragonborn too. So… so I need to ask Elisif if she has one going spare.”

Madanach had gone very quiet, managing to quiet Maia absently, but all his attention was on Eola.

“So both your kids would live and they'd both be Dragonborn,” Madanach said softly. “But you need a soul from Elisif – tell me, is the soul going to live on? Would the child remember anything from the… the donor? I mean, the donor would be gone?”

“Seems so,” Eola said, trying to recall what Paarthurnax had said to her. “He said it was Laat Kogaan Akatosh, the Final Blessing, where a dragon with no way out and no other honourable path left to it could sacrifice itself, become discarnate and maybe it'd get reborn as a Dragonborn… but Paarthurnax emphasised the final bit. He said it was a new start as a mortal with dragon's powers – the dragon doesn't remember who it was.”

Relief in Madanach's eyes and Eola was surprised at how much stress seemed to have suddenly faded out of him. He let her go and sat back, Maia nestled in his arms, apparently hopeful and content.

“I'll talk to her,” Madanach promised. “If she can help, she will. Meanwhile, I'll get Cicero, he was worrying about you and generally getting under everyone's feet, so I got Borgakh and Borkul to spar with him – last I saw him, he was enjoying losing on purpose.”

Which sounded like Cicero, and then there was a quiet knock on the door and a familiar cooing.

“Ma-da-naaaach! Dearest, belovedest Ma-da-naaaach! Is Eola awake yet? Cicero was worried….”

“Speak of the Daedra,” Madanach murmured, placing Maia on the bed next to Eola. “Eola, make sure your sister doesn't decide to fling herself off the bed or anything.”

Babies did that??? Babies… probably did that, didn't they. Eola picked Maia up, a faint sense of dread filling her as she wondered how parents could actually function when their children weren't right in front of them at all times. But she didn't have time to think about that for long. Madanach had let Cicero in, welcoming smile on his face – too welcoming. Madanach closed the door behind him and before Cicero could finish drawing breath to squeal at Eola, Madanach had pounced, moving surprisingly quickly as he grabbed Cicero and shoved him up against the door.

“Eola told me,” Madanach said, sounding surprisingly calm. “Eola told me that you were _stupid_ enough to make a deal with an entity from the Soul Cairn, and now it's infected my grandchild.”

“Ah,” Cicero laughed nervously, glancing to one side and trying to edge away. “Madanach, dearest Madanach, Cicero had no way of knowing that would happen...”

“OF COURSE YOU DIDN'T, BECAUSE YOU NEVER FUCKING THINK!” Madanach roared into his son-in-law's face, and Maia promptly burst into tears, still not able to figure out when parental anger was directed at her or not, and it was probably that which saved Cicero, as Madanach let him go and went to reclaim his little one, scooping her up and hushing her.

Cicero crawled over to the bed and peeped over the edge, unsure if it was safe to emerge or not.

“Da, I've already shouted at him, you didn't need to,” Eola said, rather disapproving of her father inserting himself into everything all the time. 

“Oh, I think I did,” Madanach said, still glaring at Cicero. “He can just count himself lucky that Dragonborn heirs is quite a coup for the Reach, and that Elisif can probably help with the other one. As it is, you recklessly endanger my grandkids again, and I'll have you gelded.”

“Da!” Eola cried, knowing he likely meant it too. Cicero let out an extremely high-pitched whimper and ducked behind the bed again, and Madanach relented… slightly.

“Ugh, fine, perhaps taking the kids into official custody and barring him from seeing them would be sufficient,” Madanach growled. “For now, I'll settle for him going on this trip to find Auriel's Bow. If you come back having successfully found it, you can consider yourself forgiven. And if you die in the process, well, I'll see your kids are provided for.”

“ _I_ can provide for them,” Eola snapped, reaching out to put a protective arm around her husband. Madanach did smile then, acknowledging the point.

“True enough,” he laughed. “Although with twins, you will need all the help you can get. Here, I'll let you two talk, and I'll send Athis and Serana in when they wake up. In the meantime, I need to send a note to Elisif, warn her a situation has arisen. Eola, I will see you later.”

“See you later,” Eola whispered, waving to her baby sister, who'd calmed down enough to wave goodbye as Madanach left. As he did so, Eola let out a sigh and collapsed on the pillows. She loved her father, knew he meant well, but honestly, the overprotectiveness was wearing sometimes. There was a reason she'd seized the opportunity to not live in the Reach. She could definitely understand Serana's feelings on her own complicated family – maybe one parent had been bad, but the better one was no less trying sometimes.

“Are you all right?” she whispered as Cicero slowly emerged from hiding and climbed on to the bed, snuggling into her arms. “I'm so sorry about him, he overreacts to everything...”

Cicero, not a man known for his calm and understated emotional reactions either, just shrugged.

“Cicero does not mind. It is not the first time Madanach has threatened poor Cicero with bodily harm. He has yet to carry any of them out. Cicero has noticed the ice spikes and lightning bolts mostly miss, and yet Madanach's eyesight is as good as ever and his aim is normally excellent.”

“Just because he's missing you on purpose doesn't mean it's OK!” Eola sighed, and Cicero actually giggled.

“Oh, Cicero just likes the attention,” Cicero said, grinning before propping himself up on one elbow. “So, you are well? And Madanach has promised to crush Isran's Dawnguard and talk Elisif into donating a dragon soul?”

“He's gonna talk to her,” Eola promised. “I think she'll help if she can, you know what she's like about babies. Don't know about Isran though.”

“WHAT?” Cicero yelped, sitting upright, appalled. “But beloved, his nasty Dawnguard _shot_ you! We have the crossbow bolts as proof even if we had not heard them shout 'For the Dawnguard!' when they attacked!”

“Yeah, but Da reckons we can't prove they knew who we were,” Eola sighed. “And we did have two vampires with us. Could have been just a routine patrol thinking they were hunting Volkihars up to no good.”

“But… but that is not true!” Cicero cried. “And Isran knew who we were! He was even in Falkreath not long before, did he not tell his people at the time to not attack us??”

“He nearly attacked us in Elisif's court, do you think he'd stop out in the wilds with no witnesses?” Eola said bitterly. “But we have no proof, Cicero. And he couldn't have known we'd be in Falkreath – we didn't even know we'd be going there until two days before we headed out there. Still, don't fret. Da seems to think Elisif can be easily talked into stopping his funding after we've dealt with Harkon. I imagine that will include his tax-free status as well – you know how reluctant Maven was to agree to that.”

Cicero's eyes lit up as the prospect of Isran getting on the wrong side of Maven Black-Briar occurred to him.

“Oooh! You think Maven will start taxing him and become angry if the taxes do not materialise!” Cicero squealed. “And we all know what Maven does to people who are holding out on her… Cicero shall drop by and visit Karliah, let her know that if Maven needs any stabbing done, he'll be happy to help.”

“Yes you shall!” Eola laughed, cuddling Cicero and giving him a quick kiss. “After we've sorted out Harkon, because much as I'd like to say he and Isran are as bad as each other, that's not strictly true.”

In that living in a world with no sun was undoubtedly worse than living in one where you might be shot and killed on suspicion of being a vampire or a thrall with no evidence other than Isran's paranoid suspicions, yes, this was the case, but it was also certain that neither world was one where you would actually choose to live.

“Maybe Isran will die in the battle,” Cicero said fondly. “Ooh! Sweetling! Should we let him go in first and then accidentally trip him so the vampires kill him first?”

That did make Eola laugh, until her still aching muscles protested and she had to subside, swatting Cicero for his trouble.

“Find that bow first,” Eola said sleepily. “Then you can think up ways to justify your usually impeccable aim going awry in the midst of battle and accidentally shooting Isran in the throat.”

Cicero crowed with delight, and snuggled up to her, and while they were both too tired and injured for anything sexual to happen, the prospect of a foe to take revenge on had a way of healing any remaining rifts in their relationship. Isran would never know quite what he'd just wrought.

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The bars of Miraak's cage rattled, jerking him awake as a steel-coated fist slammed into them. Elisif was done playing around. Not for her a Jarl's robes tonight. Finally, she could see a way out. Finally, she'd exchanged robes of state for armour and a Jagged Crown, and by the Eight, it felt amazing.

Miraak was sitting up, rubbing his eyes and staring at her in confusion before a grin split his face.

“Well now, Yolaazov. Changed your mind? Finally letting me out?”

Elisif decided not to give him the satisfaction. Madanach had told her if she responded to him, she'd let him take control of the conversation and he'd win. So she ignored him completely.

“Laat Kogaan Akatosh!” she intoned cheerfully. “Mean anything to you, Miraak?”

Miraak's smile faded, eyes regarding her coldly, and Elisif guessed from that the answer was yes.

“Now who has spoken to you of that,” Miraak murmured. Good, she'd surprised him. Hopefully she could keep him on the defensive.

“A Dovah I trust,” Elisif said firmly. “A group you do not belong to, Miraak. But I am merciful. Laat Kogaan Akatosh, Miraak. Take the option and I can guarantee you rebirth. I know of a dragon-blooded embryo you can merge with. You still die but your gifts can live on. Well? What do you say?”

Silence, and his face couldn't have given less away if he'd had the mask on. All the same… he didn't look surprised.

“I see,” was all he said.

“I see,” Elisif repeated. “Is that it? I'm telling you you're done, your only hope for redemption is dying and being reborn as another human child and all you can say is 'I see'?? Most people would have shown a little emotion over that?”

Miraak shrugged, getting off the bed, then next thing she knew he'd crossed the room and was standing barely an inch from her, only bars separating them. Elisif shuddered and stepped back, still glaring at him. The son of a bitch had the nerve to smirk.

“Who's the child,” Miraak asked. “What manner of parents do I have? Tell me I'm not going to be born to some peasant family out in the Hjaalmarch.”

“Somehow, Miraak, I think you'd make something of yourself regardless of where you ended up. But you're fortunate. You're going to be born noble – in a way.”

“In a way?” Miraak asked, raising an eyebrow. “Don't tell me I'm illegitimate.”

“No, just a bastard,” Elisif said, her turn to smirk now, and really he'd left himself wide open to that one. To her surprise Miraak blinked… and then actually laughed.

“You're good,” he said, approving. “So. Tell me who my parents will be, if not you and Madanach. Too much to hope you're the pregnant one.”

“No,” Elisif said, doing her best to hide the disappointment on that score… and then she realised why he'd kept asking about it. “Wait… you knew! You knew this was possible! You were hoping I'd get pregnant so you could sneak into the baby!”

Shrug from Miraak who didn't seem bothered.

“And? You must know I had no desire to remain here forever. If the name Miraak is lost in the wuldsetiid, I care not. But I would know freedom, one way or another. If I could not be inside you one way, I will take another.”

Elisif shivered, appalled and revolted at the very thought.

“Well, it's not me,” Elisif said firmly. “Your mother's Reach-Princess Eola, your father's Cicero, her husband. You are in line for the Mournful Throne… but there's a catch. You're one of twins.”

Miraak shrugged again.

“I will destroy and consume the weakling in the womb, have no fear.”

Exactly as Paarthurnax had predicted. Elisif sighed and prepared to break the news to him.

“The other one is also Dragonborn. You were not the first to be trapped in a Daedric realm, seeking a way home. Ever heard of a dragon called Durnehviir?”

“Durne- he's still alive??” Miraak gasped. “I thought… but if he is not dead, where was he?? Years, I waited, centuries! We studied together, perused forbidden arts, the arcane arts unfurled at our touch! Then he went to perform some forbidden rite involving necromancy and… I never saw him again. I turned to working for Mora after that. I was hoping he might have knowledge that would help me find my friend… but he never revealed it to me.”

“Friend?” Elisif couldn't help but ask. “You had friends? And Durnehviir was one?”

“Yes,” Miraak snapped. “Do not look so surprised. I did not always work alone. What happened, where did the Ideal Masters have him??”

So Elisif told him how Durnehviir had ended up enslaved to them, trapped in the Soul Cairn, and even freed from servitude, he could never return to Tamriel as he was. So he'd got Cicero to ferry him out, and then chosen incarnation as Eola's unborn child… one of them anyway.

“And you wish me as the other,” Miraak murmured. “I'm touched.”

“Don't get too full of yourself,” Elisif warned him. “This is another chance. Don't waste it.”

“I won't,” Miraak promised, looking a bit too gleeful for Elisif's liking. “Truly, it will be good to see my old friend again. Maybe in this life, we can pick up where we left off.”

“And where did you leave off?” Elisif asked, already regretting this.

“Now that would be telling,” Miraak purred. “But I am already looking forward to this. Very well. Take me to my brother.”

Elisif stepped back and felt something like magic flow through her fingers, along with the familiar envy of those who could just summon magic like it was nothing, and the cell bars vanished. The entire prison vanished, and suddenly they were standing at the top of a cliff, the night sky above them and the abyss beneath.

“This would be it, Elisif,” Miraak said, using her actual name for once. “Once I enter the abyss, I will no longer exist as you see me now. You'll wake at that moment. I hope Eola is not far from you, because you won't have long to find her.”

“She's down the corridor,” Elisif said quietly, not sure suddenly how she felt about this. She was doing the right thing, she knew she was, and Madanach had been ecstatic at the opportunity to get him out of her head… but this was still an ending and Elisif always cried a bit at those. 

Miraak nodded, a rather strange expression on his own face as he reached up and wiped a tear of her face, before leaning forward and kissing her lips. Not roughly, no tongues involved, just a gentle but firm kiss that said more than words would. 

“Thank you,” Miraak said softly. “It is more than I deserve. Thank you for saving me from Mora.”

Elisif nodded, too choked up to speak so she settled for a hug instead. Miraak returned the embrace for a few moments, and then he let her go.

“Don't forget me,” Miraak told her, and then he was running, shedding human form as he did so and turning into a vast blue and gold dragon that circled the abyss before descending at an alarming rate, wings folding up, and then he was gone, the world exploding in light as he collided with the pit, a cold wind sending Elisif staggering back…

And then she was awake, sitting up in the Reach-King's bed in Understone Keep, and her mind felt like it was on fire.

“Madanach,” she whispered, but her voice sounded different, more Dov than human, and it came out as Maar-Dinok, the Dovahzul version of his name.

The Thu'um's vibrations shook the Keep, and in her cradle across the room, Maia started to cry, but Elisif couldn't go near her like this. She was _glowing,_ for Kyne's sake!

“Maar-Dinok,” she gasped again. “Tend to the kiir. I need Yol-Ah.”

Without waiting for a response from the husband who'd woken up, rubbing his eyes, Elisif staggered out of bed and made for the door, hoping she remembered where Eola's room was. She was barely aware of Madanach swearing, coughing, swearing again about why he never ended up with the sane ones, staggering out of bed and picking Maia up before chasing after her.

Eola started up as Elisif flung her bedroom door open, and Serana and Athis both got up, reaching for spells and weapons… then stopped as they realised it was Elisif, skin glowing and eyes twin orbs of fire, even as members of both the Oculatus and ReachGuard were crowding after her.

“Elisif?” Eola whispered, as Cicero woke up next to her, rubbing his eyes and looking confused.

“I have a _ziil_ for you,” Elisif rasped, just about able to focus thanks to the dragon soul loose inside her. “Still want it?”

“I'm really not...” Eola began, and then Cicero grasped what was going on and squeaked “Yes!”

Good enough. Elisif closed her eyes and let Miraak's soul go free. Eola cried out as the dragon soul swarmed out of her, all light and fire as it dived for Eola's stomach.

Then it was gone and Elisif was herself again… and Miraak was gone. Elisif could tell, Elisif could feel the hole inside where'd he'd been. She'd not felt so bereft in a long time.

“Madanach?” she whispered, desperately needing a cuddle, and he was there, Madanach was there, first handing Maia to one of the Oculatus and then pulling her into his arms.

“Come on,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “You're coming back to bed. You need to rest, you and Eola both. Everyone else, you're dismissed, go back to work, apart from you with Maia, bring her with us. Not a word about this to ANYONE, from Nepos to your own mothers.”

Elisif clung on to her husband and let herself be led away, exhausted and ready to cry, and before long the room had cleared, leaving Eola lying back on the pillows, having forgotten how much that'd hurt the first time.

“Eola?” Cicero whispered, snuggling up to her. “Eola? Are you alright?”

“I think so?” Eola managed to say. “Two crossbow bolts and a dragon soul in three days takes it out of you.”

Then Athis was there on her other side and Eola leaned in gratefully to him. Particularly as he had a healing potion on hand.

“Think you could do with it,” Athis said gruffly. “Here.”

Eola knocked it back and closed her eyes, vaguely aware of Serana's magic flaring.

“Well, they're both intact and now… hey, you've got two Dragonborns now!” Serana said, excited. “They're cute!”

“How can you possibly tell,” Eola murmured. “They don't even have faces yet, do they?”

“Their auras look cute,” Serana said, taking a seat at the end of the bed. “Like they're cuddling.”

Cicero actually beamed and snuggled up to Eola, tears in his eyes.

“They will live!” he gasped. “Our little ones will make it! Elisif saved them!”

“They will,” Athis said, reaching round Eola to cuddle Cicero as well, and as the three of them cuddled, Serana quietly slipped out to give them some privacy and time to rest. Two Dragonborn twins. Serana had a feeling the hard part hadn't even started yet. But for now, the little family were at peace and content. All was well.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Elisif hadn't said anything as they'd taken her back to bed. Madanach had helped her to bed, laid her down, retrieved Maia and then booted everyone else out, before returning with their baby in hand.

“Cuddle Maia?” Madanach said gruffly, holding a sniffling infant out to her, and Elisif instinctively held her arms out, calming down as her baby nestled into her arms. Madanach climbed in alongside her, sitting in silence for a bit, the lamps burning down and leaving them in darkness.

“He's gone,” Elisif whispered, and Madanach wordlessly put a hand on her back, wanting to comfort her, albeit clearly and definitely not missing Miraak.

“Are you all right?” was all he trusted himself to say to her. Elisif glanced down at the baby snuggling in her arms, who was still looking a bit pensive but no longer crying.

“I don't know,” Elisif whispered. “He agreed – he wanted to in the end. Turns out he knew Durnehviir, they were research partners.”

“And they both ended up trapped in Daedric realms of Oblivion, there's a thing,” Madanach observed, somewhat hypocritically given some of the projects he'd signed off. Then he edged closer to Elisif, putting an arm around her.

“Maybe this is for the best, love,” he said gruffly. “He's probably happier getting another shot at life, a new start, than stuck inside your head, as much a prisoner as he was in Apocrypha… oh no, Elisif, don't.”

Elisif couldn't help it as the realisation she'd never see Miraak again hit her, and even though she'd hated him, she couldn't help but mourn. Who else understood like he had, after all? And so she started sobbing her heart out, unable to stop despite Maia whimpering at her, and then Madanach pulled her into his arms and held her, with his free hand comforting Maia.

“I'm sorry,” Elisif sobbed. “I'm so sorry!”

Madanach didn't say anything, only holding her and at length Elisif subsided and it seemed Maia was dozing off. So Madanach undertook the delicate operation of placing her back in her cradle before returning to his wife.

“You know, there's not many husbands who would put up with their wives essentially having an affair with the man who tried to kill her, and then comfort her after it all ended,” Madanach said at length.

“I didn't have an affair with him!” Elisif cried. “I told him no!”

“I know,” Madanach said softly. “But part of you was tempted, wasn't it?”

To that, Elisif could only shamefully nod, not able to meet Madanach's eyes.

“He kissed me,” Elisif whispered. “Right at the end. I think I liked it? But I don't… I hate him, Madanach, why do I want him to kiss me again??”

“Because we don't always fancy people who are good for us, for which, see my entire romantic history before meeting you,” Madanach sighed. “I can hardly judge you for some moments of weakness. You did the right thing in the end, and you saved my grandchild. So, you're forgiven. If you think you need to be.”

Elisif leaned closer and cuddled him, and while her grief didn't stop, she could at least be glad it had worked out. She kissed his cheek and nestled next to him.

“I love you,” Elisif whispered. “Do you think we should tell Eola and Cicero whose soul it was?”

“Absolutely not,” Madanach said firmly. “This is the man who mind-controlled Eola and had her slaving away on a temple for weeks, and told Cicero he was the Listener, all Cicero had to do was sacrifice you to him and take Miraak to the Night Mother, and he'd prove it.”

Yes, he had, and Cicero had almost considered acting on Miraak's words… until he'd met Elisif, accompanied her out to Saering's Watch after everyone else she'd brought with her had fallen under Miraak's spell, and learnt the Thu'um they needed was a mind control one, at which point his suspicions that Miraak was lying were confirmed. Elisif had turned round from learning the Thu'um to find Cicero standing there, shaking all over with his knife in his hands, and then he'd dropped it and burst into tears, throwing himself at her feet, begging forgiveness and telling her everything.

By rights she'd have been entitled to execute him on the spot, but something in her had told her no, he'd not followed through and she knew Miraak was persuasive. So she'd quietly held him and then told him he was officially pardoned as long as he helped her. He'd been very pleased indeed to help with that, and he'd rejoiced on Miraak's death – Eola hadn't been displeased either. It occurred to Elisif that neither would be pleased to learn Miraak's soul had lived on in Elisif all this time, and they'd definitely not be keen on him reincarnating as their child.

“You think they might not love a child they thought was Miraak?” Elisif whispered, feeling her heart clench.

“I think I'd be taking my own grandchildren into care for their personal safety,” Madanach growled. “No. No, they never find out, Elisif. Safer for everyone that way.”

Cicero wouldn't stab his own children, would he?? Except Elisif recalled that the founding myth of the Brotherhood had involved the Night Mother sacrificing her own children to Sithis for power, and she realised she couldn't rule it out. No, best he never knew.

“All right,” Elisif whispered. “We never speak of this again.”

Madanach smiled and, letting her go, lay down to prepare to go to sleep. Except Elisif wasn't quite done, not yet.

“Are you sure it doesn't bother you?” she asked him, and Madanach shook his head.

“No. Eola seemed to think the donor would die and their memories vanish. Miraak's dead and he died saving my grandchild. I can be magnanimous under those circumstances. Not to mention a guaranteed future Dragonborn Reach King or Queen.”

Elisif should have known he'd be pleased with _that_. 

“That appeals, does it?” she said, lying down next to him.

“Oh, absolutely,” Madanach said, grinning. “Think of it, Elisif, all those Nords out there who revere Dragonborns as heroes but tolerate Reachmen at best? They find out Kaie's heirs are Dragonborn, the chosen of Akatosh, how do you think they'll react? Oh sure, we know they weren't supposed to be Dragonborn, but Skyrim won't.”

Elisif could see this all too clearly and gave up arguing. Of course those kids would first have to be born, grow up, master their powers, and who better to mentor them than another, older, Dragonborn? Also babies! Yes, clearly it was in everyone's best interest for their step-grandmother to be closely involved with their lives. 

Miraak was gone, and it hurt… but Elisif's sensible side knew it would never have worked, they'd have struggled constantly, and Elisif couldn't have lived with being a subordinate consort again, any more than Miraak would have wanted anyone to rival him. They'd have destroyed each other. No, give her Madanach any day, who respected boundaries both political and personal, but was also strong enough to stand up for himself and just wild enough to keep things interesting.

But Miraak's soul in a small child, a cute and impressionable child who might well look up to Elisif… yes, Elisif could live with that. Two of them, even better! There wasn't a baby out there that Elisif couldn't love.

So Elisif snuggled up next to her husband, finally at peace for the first time in months, and when she dreamed, she dreamed only of flying alone, wild and free, a dragon in charge of her own mind and destiny. It felt good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is all either cute or a terrible idea, but everyone seems happy. Next chapter, the quest resumes as Serana, Cicero and Athis go off to find Auriel's Bow... with a little Reachman assistance.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Eola's information, and ReachGuard support, the fearless vampire hunters should be able to clear out one cave and find one treasure, right? One cave, yes, but Darkfall Cave turns out to contain wonders the like of which they've never seen... and horrors that will test all their resolve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Auriel's Bow time! Now the Forgotten Vale is lovely but also huge, so I have cut a lot out with regards to exploration and stuff, and gone straight for the action. We're also nearing the end! I think we've got about two, three chapters max after this. Finding of the Bow in this one, then the final battle and aftermath, and then an epilogue when the twins are born. But that's a way off. For now, this is how to find Auriel's Bow with rather more back-up than you get in game.

Dark, dank, quiet. Nothing here but a few frostbite spiders, easily dealt with by a firebolt to the face. Kaie loved doing that. Of course, once that was sorted out, that left them all facing the fact that this was not a big cave complex. Of course it wasn't, Kaie had had to shelter in this place before now from the rain or snow. There was nothing here. Eola's hardwon info? A waste of time.

“Kaie, Kaie, lovely Kaie, what do we do now?” Cicero asked, bouncing up to her. “We have cleared and searched the cave, but Cicero cannot see a bow anywhere.”

“It's not here,” Borgakh growled. “Let's get back to Hag's End and tell Elisif this was a waste of time.”

“I refuse to believe the Scrolls would lie,” Serana said fiercely. “My father must have spent his entire life searching for this, ruined our family over that prophecy, I refuse to just give up! Look, that passageway back there had what looked like a possible doorway in it, there must be a switch… Cicero, no!”

Cicero had ignored the Forsworn safety signs at the start of the rickety wooden bridge over the deep dark abyss, skipping blithely over the bridge's rotting timbers to see if there was anything on the ledge at the other side.

“Are you kidding, that bridge's not safe, what is he _doing?_ ” Kaie cried, not wanting to be the one to have to break this news to Eola if anything happened to Cicero. Maybe the little idiot was completely off his head, but Eola still loved him. “CICERO! There's nothing over there but an old mining plot!”

Cicero had already crossed the bridge and was poking around, desperately turning over everything over there in hope a legendary bow of the gods was hiding underneath a pickaxe or something, but with no luck.

“I'll get him,” Athis sighed, gingerly making his way over the bridge and tersely telling Cicero to leave it, there was nothing over there, they'd have another look at the earlier passageways. So Kaie waited until Cicero eventually gave up and agreed to have another look elsewhere, following Athis miserably back over the bridge.

That was when, with two men on the bridge, the ancient timbers finally decided they'd had enough and gave way, plunging Cicero and Athis into the abyss beneath, Cicero's shrieking audible until he hit the water beneath with a splash. Then nothing.

“Cicero!” Kaie cried, appalled. “CICERO?? ATHIS?”

Nothing, and a cast magelight revealed nothing but water down there.

“Oh no,” Kaie whispered. “What do I tell Eola?”

“He died bravely,” Borgakh said, shrugging. “Is it his lot who go to Sovngarde?”

“That's Nords,” Kaie said, desperately casting Detect Life and not seeing anything. And then Serana returned, despondent.

“I didn't see anything back there, but Eola was so sure,” Serana said softly. “Hey, why are we all staring into the… pit...” She saw the broken bridge and no sign of Cicero or Athis and guessed what had happened. “Wait, they fell in?? Why aren't we going after them?”

“To retrieve bodies? No point,” Borgakh grunted. “Shame about the gear though, Cicero's knives were pretty fancy.”

“Bodies – but there's water down there!” Serana cried. “They might not be dead!”

“Well, I don't see any signs of life, and...” Kaie tried Detect Dead as well, remembering Athis wasn't technically alive anyway, but nothing. “No, no undead either. They're not there. They must have been knocked out and… and drowned.”

Kaie just about managed to keep her voice level, dimly aware of Borgakh patting her on the back, and then Serana shook her head, refusing to just abandon them.

“Vampires don't need to breathe, we can't drown!” Serana snapped. “Athis would have made it if not Cicero, and I know Cicero can cast the Waterbreathing spell – he's not a bad swimmer either. How do we know there aren't tunnels? Current might have carried them down them.”

“Current might have dashed them against the rocks as it sucked them under,” Borgakh said, shrugging. “But she's got a point, Kaie. Bodies float.”

Kaie pursed her lips, thinking… and then she summoned one of the ReachGuard, the one tasked with looking after the gear… including a long length of rope.

“Bring me that rope and tie it to something secure. Then I need a volunteer to go abseiling...”

“I'll do it,” Serana said instantly, and the entire ReachGuard contingent had never looked so relieved. “I can't drown, can see in the dark, better it be me.”

All good points, and so it was Serana went abseiling down the wall of the pit, eventually hitting the water and realising, yes there was a tunnel and a current flowing strongly along it. No sign of any floating bodies or blood in the water, so they'd clearly been pushed along that tunnel. Serana surfaced and shouted this up to Kaie.

“I'm gonna release the rope!” Serana called. “I'm going after them! If I'm not back in an hour, get help from Keirine.”

“Serana, are you sure that's wise??” Kaie called, but next minute the rope had gone slack, and Detect Dead picked up a flash of orange disappearing under the water and then gone, swept off in another direction entirely.

“Bugger it,” Kaie cursed. “Now we've lost all three of them. What the hell do I do?”

“What Serana said, I suppose,” Borgakh said, going to sit down and make herself comfortable. “Wait for her and report back to Hag's End if none of them show up.”

Keirine's response would likely be 'leave them, this is their mission, they either turn up with the bow or they don't', but Kaie still had her empathy intact and she couldn't help but worry about two brothers-in-law she'd got fond of. So she set guards, and ordered them all to make camp while they waited. They could be some time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Kaie was sure it had been more than an hour before there was any sign from beneath, and she'd long ago dozed off against Borgakh's shoulder, blanket and a strong Orc arm around her to keep her safe and warm. 

But the sound of stone against stone had them all on alert, and cries from the ones on guard calling for someone to identify themselves or be killed had Kaie running to find out what was going on.

“Humble Cicero!” Cicero squealed, excited. “With Spouse-Brother Athis and nice Serana!”

“Kaie, where's Kaie, you won't believe what we found down there!” Serana cried, sounding delighted, and Kaie turned the corner to see the three of them, hair still wet and armour still damp, standing in the open door of what Serana had sworn earlier looked like a passageway… and behind them, a path leading down.

“What did you find down there?” Kaie asked, about ready to squeal as she realised there must be a whole complex down there.

“Not a lot, not yet,” Athis admitted, the voice of reason compared to his more excitable companions. “Lots of spiders, lots of underground caves… and signs of other people having been down there. Looks like they may have been killed by trolls, so there's probably some there, be warned. We didn't explore all of it.”

“Cicero wanted to!” Cicero chirped. “But Athis said we should come and find you first so you did not worry, or go home and declare us dead and break Eola's heart.” His cheery demeanour did fade a bit at that as the prospect of Eola unhappy made him pout a bit.

“Good thing you did,” Kaie admitted. “So you mean there's a whole underground set of caves down there?? Which might just have Auriel's Bow? Well then, we'd better get down there. You, you and you, get yourselves to Hag's End and tell them we've found an entire cave complex and are exploring. See if they can send back-up. Meanwhile, the rest of you are with me. We have a bow to find.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

There were indeed trolls – but several Forsworn and a Reach-Princess with fireballs at her command dealt with them. And then the passageway led into a wider cave… and they weren't alone.

A makeshift campsite, a strange dome-like structure that none of them had seen the like of before… and an elf. An elf the same height as an Altmer with similar features, but pale white skin and gleaming white armour. And he was watching unsmiling as they approached.

“Should we stab him?” Cicero murmured in Kaie's ear.

“No,” Kaie hissed. “Honestly Cicero, he might know where the bow is!”

Cicero muttered but subsided, absolutely sure it would not be that simple. It never was. But on the bright side, chances were there'd be lots of things for them to stab.

“Hey,” Serana said, stepping forward first. “Er, do you live here? We were just passing through...”

“So I see,” the elf replied as he approached. He didn't look armed but that didn't mean anything, he was likely a mage for all they knew. Of course, Kaie and friends were very skilled at countering magic.

The elf seemed to notice their wariness.

“Come, come closer, and lower your weapons. I don't mean you any harm. My name is Knight-Paladin Gelebor and I have the honour of guarding the Great Chantry of Auri-El.”

A little murmur of excitement – Auriel was familiar to the Reachmen as an aspect of Anu, equivalent of Akatosh and a source of all life and indeed fertility. A few of the female ReachGuard were even now looking him over appreciatively.

“The Great Chantry?” Serana gasped. “I had no idea such a thing even existed, did you, Athis?”

“Never heard of it,” Athis said, shaking his head and glancing at the dome. “That thing's not it, is it?”

Gelebor raised an eyebrow.

“No,” Gelebor said shortly. “The Chantry encompasses far, far more than you see before you. Maybe you'll see its wonders for yourself. Tell me, is it Auriel's Bow you are after?”

“He knows!” Cicero hissed, dagger snicking into his hand. “The strange pale elf knows too much!”

Kaie reached out and placed a hand on his arm. Last thing they needed was Cicero stabbing their one lead.

“Cicero,” Kaie said through gritted teeth. “Let the nice man speak. He might be able to help.” She turned her most polite smile on Gelebor. “I'm so sorry about him. He's a little… excitable. You were saying about Auriel's Bow? We were looking for it. Do you know where it is?”

“Of course,” Gelebor sighed. “It is the only thing anyone ever comes down here for. The location is a secret but occasionally people hear of it and find me. They ask for the bow, I request their assistance, and they never return.”

“So wait, we offer to help and you give us the bow?” Serana said, surprised. “Well all right then, we can do that!”

“You don't know what he wants yet,” Borgakh could be heard muttering, while Athis was of the opinion that it couldn't be that simple.

“It isn't,” Gelebor admitted. “You'll need to kill someone. My brother, Vyrthur.”

Cicero audibly inhaled, actually squeaked, and then stepped forward, beaming.

“Is that _all?_ Cicero is happy to help!” Cicero cooed. “Where can humble Cicero find him?”

Kaie mentally recited an invocation to the gods to give her the patience to deal with Cicero. Patting him firmly on the back, she kept smiling. Eola liked him. He had kids on the way. Pushing him off a cliff would be bad, even if Madanach had told her that if Cicero died, he'd deal with breaking the news to Eola for her, which was sweet of him.

“Perhaps first you can tell us more about you and Vyrthur and this… Chantry,” Kaie said. “We had no idea it was even here, who built it?”

“I'm not surprised,” Gelebor said, half-smiling. “It is a well-kept secret these days, and its history largely forgotten. But once, when my people were a widespread and prosperous civilisation, it was a centre of worship across all North Tamriel.”

“Your people?” Athis queried sceptically. “You're no kind of elf I ever saw, what are your people?”

Gelebor hesitated, sadness in his eyes.

“I'm the last of the snow elves,” Gelebor admitted. “Once we were a thriving and prosperous civilisation. Then Ysgramor and his heirs came and… no more.”

“You're a Falmer!” Athis gasped, and everyone was subconsciously going for their weapons, the mere mention of the Falmer giving everyone the jitters. They'd all fought the bastards, and many of the ReachGuard present had had to patrol Markarth's Dwemer underbelly before now to ensure no Falmer were likely to invade the city. Gelebor likely knew of his modern kin too, for he was quick to respond.

“I prefer the term Snow Elf,” Gelebor said swiftly. “I find the term Falmer has negative associations for many travellers, and I see in your eyes you've all encountered my kin. Those twisted creatures you call Falmer, I call the Betrayed.”

“Who betrayed them?” Serana asked, not having heard the story. So Gelebor told her – of the coming of the Nords, the fall of Snow Elf civilisation, and the Daedra's bargain with the dwarves – the Falmer would have sanctuary but at the cost of their sight, and later, it turned out, their freedom. Something in whatever the dwarves had been feeding them had corrupted them yet further, and the result was the modern Falmer – betrayed by the dwarves.

“But you're not like that,” Kaie pointed out. “I have fought Falmer, we all have, you're nothing like them. You've got eyes, you've been reasonable and able to hold a conversation with us. Did the Chantry never get attacked?”

“Not by the Nords,” Gelebor sighed. “We were isolated, hard to reach. We sealed ourselves off as the rest of our civilisation crumbled, we took in elven refugees but most took the dwarves' bargain in the end. We hadn't even heard of the bargain before most of our race had taken it. And so we lived on, a few hundred of us, until at length our undoing came at the hands of our own people.”

“The Betrayed?” Kaie asked. “Or… you said you wanted your brother dead.”

“Vyrthur,” Gelebor confirmed. “He was the ArchCurate of the Sanctuary. Until the Betrayed came. I had a few Knight-Paladins at my command but we weren't enough for the sheer weight of numbers. The Sanctuary was overrun, nearly everyone was killed… and somehow they corrupted my brother. He survived when everyone else died, and he's still there now. Watching. Waiting. But he's not the brother I knew. So I need him to die.”

A corrupted Snow Elven ArchCurate to murder. Part of Kaie was pouting at a wasted opportunity to study him. Part of Kaie wondered if this Vyrthur might be more use to the Reach. But most of Kaie knew she'd never get the bow otherwise, and Cicero was already squealing, Borgakh fingering her sword (a shiny ebony one that Kaie had given her), and while Athis was debating the wisdom of assassination, Serana seemed resigned to doing this.

All right then. So Kaie agreed, and a deal was struck, and all that remained was tracking Vyrthur down. Gelebor could help with that as well. Magic came to his hands, and the entire cave shook as the dome rose up out of the floor, revealing an entire chamber with a basin of some sort in the middle and what looked suspiciously like deactivated portals in the walls.

“Wow, what's that?” Serana gasped.

“A wayshrine of Auriel,” Gelebor explained. “There are five all told, scattered across the Chantry. Follow them and they will take you on a pilgrimage to the Inner Sanctum. You'll need this Ewer.”

He stepped into the wayshrine and handed a jewelled jug to Serana.

“What's this for?” Serana asked, already dubious. “And do we really need this?”

“Yes,” Gelebor said firmly. “The only way into the Sanctum is to follow the pilgrimage. At the other wayshrines, you'll find ghosts of the previous prelates who will activate the shrines… but they'll only do this for people they believe to be acolytes of Auriel. So you will need to pretend to be pilgrims. For which you'll need the Initiate's Ewer. You'll need to step into each shrine and add some water from the font.”

Serana's eyes were already glazing over at the mere prospect, and Kaie could see she was going to have to draw up a rota for the jug-carrying job.

“And what do we do with the jug when we've been to all five shrines?” Serana sighed.

“You take it to the Sanctum and pour it out in an offering to Auriel,” Gelebor said, glaring at the vampire, and Serana's face said it all about what she thought the utility of this was. 

“It's _symbolic,_ ” Gelebor said through gritted teeth. “I don't expect you to understand. But it is the only way to get into the Sanctum, find Vyrthur and kill him. With him gone, the bow is yours.”

It didn't look like they had a lot of choice. So Kaie agreed, Cicero picked up the ewer and drew some water from the font – and a portal opened in the shrine. Leading to another dark cave apparently, and Gelebor confirmed they'd start out in dangerous caves. It represented the soul before enlightenment by Auriel's light apparently.

Kaie was already certain the tedious elven mysticism was going to get old very quickly, but she thanked Gelebor and led the way into darkness. She had a feeling they'd all need their wits about them. She wasn't wrong.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The Chantry wasn't big. It was beyond big. It was _immense,_ with caves with a whole new ecosystem, they'd been isolated for so long, and some of the more naturalistically minded ReachGuard had been eagerly making sketches and taking plant samples and the pelts of the Vale cats that had tried to kill them were being carefully preserved and taken back for further study, along with samples of blood and flesh for the Matriarchs to study. After the whole vampire thing was dealt with, Kaie was absolutely sure the Reachkin would be back to study this place in more detail, and so they should because it was _amazing._

And then there'd been the Forgotten Vale, and everyone had gone into squealing hysterics, even Serana a little bit, and even Athis and Borgakh were impressed. 

The Falmer were less pleasing, especially having to fight their way through an entire settlement after the fourth wayshrine, but they all made it, Serana and Athis's immunity to poison helping considerably, and Cicero's Brotherhood gear was also poison-resistant. 

So it was the final wayshrine was passed, and then the Sanctum itself loomed up.

“Wow, look at it!” Serana breathed. “Is this Snow Elf architecture? It's beautiful!”

“It's very pointy,” Cicero noted, being rather more used to rounded Cyrodiilic styles and Nordic styles that were either intended to impose or to be a cosy bulwark against the elements. “Isn't it pointy, brother? Kaie, look at the pointy arches...”

“I see the pointy arches,” Kaie sighed. “Yes, they're lovely. Can we get inside? It's snowing.”

“In a sec,” Serana said absently, barely noticing the cold. “Gods, look at that Auriel statue!”

“I see it,” Athis said softly. “By Azura, that's old. There's books back home with pictures of ancient Auriel statues from when our ancestors were still Altmer. They looked like that. Even Alinor doesn't build them like this anymore.”

“Can we please get inside?” Kaie whispered, huddling next to Borgakh for warmth, and Borgakh didn't hesitate before putting an arm round Kaie to warm her up.

“Hey. Cicero. Go find out what we're meant to do with the jug. We're done carrying it for you.”

The Reachman currently designated Carrier of the Ewer took this opportunity to put the thing down, healing spells chiming as he summoned feeling back into his arms. Borgakh indicated for Cicero to do something with the nearly-full jug.

Cicero looked at it, pouted, huffed, whined and waved his hands around in protest at poor, helpless Cicero having to carry heavy jugs of water about that weighed nearly as much as he did, and in the end Borgakh growled, picked the ewer up like it weighed nothing and carried it herself, before tersely dumping the contents in the receptacle at the top of the steps.

“There, that wasn't hard, was it?” Borgakh growled at Cicero, who responded by cooing and sighing happily and generally commenting on how strong Borgakh was, and Cicero wished he had muscles like that.

“Does he ever stop?” Borgakh muttered to Kaie as she made her way back to her. Kaie patted Borgakh's back sympathetically, giving her a quick hug.

“He sleeps sometimes,” Kaie told her. “And he's got a very short attention span.”

“I can't help feeling we should have done that with a bit more ceremony,” Athis mused, watching as the water started pooling in the basin and flowing down a trench to the sealed doors… and the sun-shaped seal on the door glowed and began to turn, and the doors clicked open.

“By the gods, it worked!” Serana gasped.

“Oh thank Sithis, topping the ewer up from the lake after we dropped it didn't stop it working,” Cicero said, relieved, and more than one ReachGuard shared his feelings. 

“You mean we lugged the entire thing across the Vale for nothing?” Serana snapped. “I am having words with that elf when we see him again!”

Athis patted Serana and led her into the Sanctum. Time enough for recriminations later. They had a bow to find.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Inside turned out to be colder than outside, in fact it was _freezing._ More than one of the ReachGuard contingent ended up casting a flame cloak for warmth, and Kaie began casting some diagnostic spells, something not feeling right. The roof was intact, why would there be so much ice inside?? She soon had her answer.

“Something's not right,” Kaie announced. “I'm getting major ambient frost magic. Someone's intentionally turned this entire temple into an icehouse.” Which took some doing, as Kaie knew from personal experience with food storage experiments. Food storage…

Kaie looked around, and there were frozen Falmer and their chaurus pets _everywhere._

“Did someone use frost magic to kill them?” Athis said, frowning at one.

Kill them, maybe, but keep the spell going to preserve them? Not unless you wanted a ready food source, and while chaurus were edible, Falmer were not. So why keep the corpses on ice… oh no.

Kaie cast Detect Dead and promptly cried out.

“Don't touch the bodies!” Kaie cried. “They're _undead!_ ”

Alarm all round as Athis promptly hauled Cicero away from where he'd been about to help himself to the staff in one's hand, and Serana yelped as her own magic confirmed Kaie wasn't wrong.

“Frozen reanimated corpses,” Borgakh growled, hand going to her sword. “Whoever did this wanted an army of undead on tap and ready to go. Kinda smart.”

Worryingly smart, and the magic involved would need regular renewing. Which meant…

“Whoever did this is still here,” Kaie said softly, and they all knew who it was.

“Vyrthur,” Serana said grimly. “You think this is his doing? Gelebor said he was still alive and conscious.”

There weren't likely to be any other candidates, and if there were, that boded ill – it meant two dangerous mages to fight. But Gelebor had said the Falmer had corrupted Vyrthur… yet here was Vyrthur apparently having turned the Falmer into a fighting force quite literally being held on ice?

“What is going on here?” Kaie said softly, having told the others her thoughts. “And who corrupted Vyrthur?”

“I don't know, but we need to be on our guard,” Borgakh said, glancing round the room. “Hey. Kaie. Think fire would hurt any of these? I was thinking we could take them out one at a time, slowly unpick this army. Charred corpses can't rise. Also some of these have some nice loot.”

A fine idea, and Cicero and several of her soldiers were all looking excited, and Athis saw the strategic sense too. So Kaie gave the order, and slowly but surely, targeted fire spells did for the Falmer corpses, leaving their stuff for the taking.

They'd managed to clear most of the temple like this, and eventually there was only one place left to look – a tunnel leading through a corridor filled with more snow, ice and rubble than the main hallway had been. But it seemed to lead into a bigger hall.

“Think he's through there?” Athis asked, peering ahead.

“Yes,” Serana whispered, pointing ahead to where someone was sitting on a throne. Someone who appeared to be another Snow Elf. Vyrthur, and he seemed to be waiting for them.

Kaie motioned silently for her troops to move and, with Cicero creeping behind them, the Forsworn slipped ahead into the throne room.

Sadly, Vyrthur was waiting for them.

“Don't bother sneaking, I know you're there,” Vyrthur drawled from his throne. “I am ArchCurate of this temple still, I know when someone enters. My, but there are a lot of you. Ah, but no matter. You have brought me what I required. I will claim that pretty creature you brought with you, and my pets will deal with you others.”

“Wait, does he mean me?” Serana whispered, at the same time as Cicero shrieked “YOU ARE NOT HAVING CICERO, CICERO IS ALREADY PRETTY EOLA'S!”

Had Vyrthur left it at that, or indeed kept toying with Cicero's vanity, he might have induced a mass stabbing and saved himself a lot of trouble. But alas, Vyrthur had already unleashed his pets, the frozen Falmer statues starting to uncrack.

“FIRE AT WILL!” Kaie shouted, and battle commenced.

With several Falmer unfreezing at once, this was a far tougher prospect than the controlled unfreezings Kaie had been overseeing earlier. But the Forsworn had fire at their disposal, as did Athis, and Cicero could now breathe the stuff too. It also turned out that blood magic still worked on undead Falmer too.

As the last Falmer met true death, and Cicero's fire breath laid waste to Vyrthur's Atronach, Vyrthur himself got to his feet, enraged.

“So, you can fight,” Vyrthur snapped. “And you have mastered fire, very well. But fire will not avail you against _this!_ ”

Vyrthur cast a spell, and the entire chapel began to shake, the ceiling starting to disintegrate as rocks fell around them and pillars began to collapse.

“He's bringing the entire roof down!” Serana cried, and Cicero shrieked, taking cover underneath a half-fallen pillar and dragging Athis with him.

“Take cover!” Kaie ordered, casting about for a place to hide… and then Borgakh crashed into Kaie, flinging her to the ground and shielding her as the temple collapsed around them. 

Screams all around her, and Kaie knew not all her people would survive this one… but with solid Orc steel and muscle protecting her, Kaie's own chances were good. She just hoped someone dealt with Vyrthur for her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“Cicero!”

Cicero whimpered a bit. His head hurt. He ached all over. It was dark and cold and something big and heavy was on top of him and something not-warm but feeling fleshy was snuggled next to him and…

Magic blazed and the stone lying on top of him went flying, and Serana was there with two of the Forsworn at her back. It was them who'd used telekinesis to free Cicero and Athis.

Athis. Who'd dived and rolled them over to get Cicero out of the way of a falling rock and under where two pillars had wedged themselves. And now he was lying there, unconscious.

“Brother?” Cicero whispered, shaking Athis's shoulder. “Brother, please wake up.”

“He's a vampire, it'll take more than a cave-in to kill him,” Serana said, coming to kneel by Cicero. “Are you all right? Are you in pain? Can you move your limbs?”

Cicero nodded, trying to get up and managing it, just about. 

“Does anyone have any potions?” Cicero whispered, feeling in dire need of painkillers, and one of the ReachGuard passed him one, while another was rousing Athis with some healing spells.

And across the courtyard, a whole group of ReachGuard was gathered round a kneeling Reach-Princess who was clutching Borgakh's hand.

“Sweetie?” Kaie cried. “Sweetie no, no, no, please wake up!” Kaie sobbed.

“Princess, she's still breathing,” one of the guards was saying.

“So why won't she wake up?” Kaie cried. “Borgakh, please...”

“What happened?” Cicero whispered. “Did we all make it?”

“They're still digging out some of the Forsworn, and a couple died but… look, we can't focus on that,” Serana sighed, before turning a restoration spell on Athis, who gasped and woke under its influence. “We've got more important things to think about.”

“Like what?” Athis gasped, bleary-eyed as he winced in the sunlight. “Azura, what happened?”

Serana reached down and pulled Athis to his feet.

“Vyrthur lost patience and pulled the entire chapel down on us,” Serana said grimly. “And he's still here. He's over there. By the balcony. Waiting.”

Waiting. Like Gelebor had described. He'd tried to kill them and then neither finished the job nor fled. Strange. Very very strange.

But Cicero was a Dark Brother, and a Dark Brother with a job to do, and Dark Brothers did not just let their quarry go or give up because things were odd.

“So, we end him, yes?” Cicero murmured, knocking back a potion and feeling the aches fading. 

“This has got trap written all over it,” Athis growled, but he followed Serana and Cicero anyway. They'd got this far after all. Might as well see it through.

“Give us the bow, Vyrthur!” Serana shouted, racing up the stairs. “Give us the bow and we won't kill you!”

Vyrthur just laughed bitterly, shaking his head.

“I was Arch-Curate, girl. I had the ear of a god once!”

“Yeah, once,” Athis muttered, drawing his sword. “Not seeing any sign of him now, do you, Cicero?”

Cicero drew his knives, skipping up with a cheery grin on his face as the three of them cornered Vyrthur.

“Start praying!” Cicero cooed. “Auriel _might_ save you.”

“Auriel hasn't answered my prayers in millennia, you stupid mortal,” Vyrthur growled, staggering back and clutching the balustrade. 

“Until the Betrayed corrupted you, yeah we heard,” Serana sighed, rolling her eyes. “Look, give us the bow or Cicero kills you. Don't think he needs telling twice.”

“The Betrayed?” Vyrthur laughed. “Gelebor is so easy to manipulate. Look into my eyes, woman. You tell me what I am!”

All three of them looked, and Cicero realised that while he couldn't really tell much visually, Vyrthur smelt wrong. Musty. Stale. Not blood and fresh meat and musk, no. In fact, he smelt a bit like Serana (except Serana smelt a bit nicer and more fragrant) (not that Cicero was ever telling Eola this) (or Serana) (that was just asking for trouble). No, Vyrthur smelt like a…

“Wait, you're a vampire!” Athis cried, having worked it out the same time Serana had.

“But Auriel should have protected you...” Serana whispered. Vyrthur just shook his head, the wind whistling through pale hair as undead eyes stared back at her.

“I was infected by one of my own initiates and Auriel turned his back on me,” Vyrthur said bitterly. “So I swore revenge at any price.”

“What, on a god?” Cicero said, confused. “That is not an easy thing.”

“Auriel was beyond my reach, but his influence on our world was not,” Vyrthur said, grinning. “All I needed was Auriel's Bow, and one critical ingredient – the blood of a Daughter of Coldharbour. So I created a prophecy, sent word of it out… and waited. And here you are.”

“Prophecy...” Serana whispered, horrified. “It was you?? You created that prophecy? So that someone with my blood would come along??”

Vyrthur nodded, smirking at her… and then the smirk faded as Serana advanced on him.

“Well, too bad for you, I intend on keeping it!” Serana shouted, and then she shifted into her vampire lord form, shrieking as she descended on Vyrthur.

“We should help,” Athis said, glancing at Cicero who, to his surprise, was showing no inclination to move.

“We should perhaps let her get it out of her system, brother,” Cicero said delicately. “She's being very enthusiastic in her bloodlust, isn't she?”

Serana was unleashing all sorts on the hapless Snow Elf, from blood magic to her claws ripping him to pieces – but she was a vampire fighting in daylight, and Vyrthur had his own powers. One spell later and Serana had been sent flying back into the courtyard.

“Serana!” Cicero cried, before turning back to Vyrthur.

“All right, brother, now we stab him!” Cicero announced cheerfully, just as Vyrthur summoned an Atronach again.

“I'll deal with this, you get the vampire,” Athis said, casting fire at the Atronach and Cicero darted past, knives out.

“Cicero has a contract,” Cicero announced. “But don't mistake me – Cicero _is_ going to enjoy this!”

“You're pathetic, mortal,” Vyrthur replied, unimpressed, and then he hit back with a life-draining spell.

The resulting scuffle was not the most dignified of encounters. Cicero closed despite the blood magic and there followed several seconds of scuffling, biting, magic, scrapping, knives and much swearing… and then Cicero found himself pinned to the floor with Vyrthur's teeth about to sink into his neck. And then Vyrthur smelt the beast blood and withdrew, hissing.

“Ugh, you're one of _Hircine's,_ ” Vyrthur sniffed. “I'd rather stay a vampire, all things considered.”

Cicero couldn't care less. Vyrthur had left himself wide open, and no Dark Brother turned down an opening like this. Before Vyrthur could get over his disgust at Cicero's beast blood, Cicero's knife had slipped between the Snow Elf's ribs, vampire blood pouring out onto the stone.

Before Vyrthur could fully process he'd just been mortally wounded, magic flared behind Cicero and Vyrthur's blood began to bubble, smoke rising from it, and the vampire screamed in pain.

“Noooo!” Vyrthur screamed. “How… how are you doing this?? You're _mortal!_ ”

“Yes,” Kaie said smoothly, clearly finding the whole situation hilarious. “I am. Oh come on, you honestly didn't think vampires were the only ones who understood blood magic, did you?”

From the horrified and somewhat pitiful look on Vyrthur's face, it was clear he'd thought exactly this. Kaie, her wrist gashed open on a Forsworn axe and blood dripping down her arm, just tutted and shook her head.

“Cicero, hurry up and finish him, I can't keep this up all day.”

Cicero didn't need telling twice. He drew the Blade of Woe across Vyrthur's throat and shoved the Snow Elf off him… then stabbed him a few more times for good measure, and then Athis was there with a bit of fire magic to finish the job, and then the penultimate Snow Elf was crumbling into dust.

“We did it!” Cicero squeaked, the familiar post-kill euphoria kicking in, as it always did. “We killed the Arch-Curate, we did!”

“We did,” Athis said proudly, patting Cicero on the back and helping him up. “Come on, let's see how Serana's doing.”

Serana was back in human form, downing one of her blood potions and looking a little healthier now she'd had a chance to rest, although frankly darkness was what she really needed.

“It's over,” Serana gasped. “The whole prophecy… everything… I can't believe it was all him wanting revenge on Auriel the whole time!”

Athis patted Serana on the back and Cicero sidled as close to her as he could without actually quite touching or cuddling her… and then Serana surprised them both by putting her arms around them and pulling them to her.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “For… for everything. I didn't expect all this, I didn't expect anyone would actually help or listen or understand or… thank you. Both of you. And Eola too.”

Cicero had gone a bit pink, muttering something about it being “no trouble” and “needed an adventure anyway” and “always happy to stab people, sweet Serana knows that”.

“I think we all know that,” Athis commented, wry grin on his face. Then the stone shook as one last wayshrine rose out of the temple floor… and Gelebor the last Snow Elf stepped out.

“It's done then,” he said, surveying the scene.

“It's done,” Serana confirmed, indicating Vyrthur's remains. “Have you got the bow for us now?”

“Of course!” Gelebor said, stepping aside and indicating the wayshrine. “Now you've undone Vyrthur's magic, the final wayshrine's open again… and Auriel's Bow is yours.”

Sure enough, suspended in mid-air above the font was a gleaming elven bow. It had to be it. Auriel's Bow, not a legend but real, and right there!

Cicero promptly squealed and ran to collect the prize, snatching it from the air and scampering back out cuddling it.

“Not Auriel's Bow any mo-ore!” Cicero sang out, stroking it lovingly and Athis could see that getting that bow off Cicero now would be more dangerous than the trek out here had been. So he decided to leave it. Let Elisif take it off him. She was good at persuading the immature to hand over dangerous objects without too many tears, although it was usually her baby she needed to win over.

“You got the bow then,” Kaie said, coming to stand next to them and looking it over. “It's… not as shiny as I thought. Does it work for killing vampires then?”

“It will work for killing your enemies, and it is particularly effective against undead,” Gelebor promised. “Here, take these. Specially blessed Sun-Hallowed Arrows. Fire directly at a vampire or a creation of blood magic, or fire at the sun and watch Auriel's Fire rain down on your foes. Bring me more elven arrows, I'll bless some more for you. It's the least I can do. The Sanctuary may be no more, but you deserve some recompense.”

The ruined Sanctuary was a depressing sight, it was true, and there wasn't one of them who didn't feel a little bad at all the destruction, even though Gelebor reassured them he'd suspected it might end this way, and no, not to worry, there might be other Snow Elves out there somewhere and it wasn't like Vyrthur had given them the option to not kill him.

“It just seems so sad for this place to be abandoned though,” Serana said softly. “It's just beautiful out here.”

“If it is the will of Auriel, so be it,” Gelebor sighed. “We have long held that Auriel created the world then turned from it in despair at the sins of his children. We allowed ourselves to be corrupted and could not preserve his Sanctuary as a result. Perhaps it does not deserve to survive.”

Which was a sad and depressing thought, but Athis couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right here… and there was something he could tell Gelebor.

“It wasn't the Betrayed corrupted your brother,” Athis told him. “He got turned into a vampire by one of his initiates.”

“It's true,” Serana confirmed. “In fact, we think he might have used blood magic to summon the Betrayed to kill everyone else. He controlled them, not the other way around.”

From the stunned look on Gelebor's face, he'd clearly not known this.

“So they were innocent,” he breathed. “That… that does cheer me. I had no idea. Then there may even be hope for them. I don't hold out a lot of hope for them, and they'll likely never be what they were… but over the years I've noticed a rise in their intellect. Maybe one day they'll remember what they were, be able to communicate. Maybe they won't always be the malignant horrors they've become.”

It was a slim hope… but not an impossible one. And Kaie had been looking very thoughtful throughout all this.

“Might not be the end of the Sanctuary either,” Kaie said, stroking her chin. “Gelebor, my father is a king, and his kingdom rich, and my people venerate Auriel too. And the only entrance to the caves lies within our borders. We could move out here, some of us. We could help rebuild. It wouldn't be fast and I'm not sure if we could duplicate Snow Elf workmanship – we're mages, not architects. But we could learn, and in the meantime you'd have Auriel worshippers again. We'd even have a few people do the pilgrimage.”

Gelebor's eyes had widened as he stared at her, unable to believe what he was hearing.

“Are you… my goodness… human Auriel worshippers? Coming to live here?”

Kaie nodded.

“Sure! This place is gorgeous, won't be difficult to find a few hardy souls willing to move out here. We could build a settlement in the vale just outside the cave exit, it's not as snowy there. Maybe even see if the wayshrines can be linked to the Reach's portal network – Auntie Keirine's special grimoire seems to imply it's possible to link them to mirrors somehow.”

Gelebor raised an eyebrow, surprised. “Interesting. I did not know that knowledge had survived anywhere. I am a Knight-Paladin, child, I am a warrior and a priest, not a summoner or a weaver of the Beyond. But I'd be interested in learning more of this grimoire of your aunt's.”

“I bet,” Kaie grinned. “Well, if you're willing to let us move into the Forgotten Vale, we can arrange to let you read it.”

Gelebor agreed and a deal was struck. And then it just remained to head home. Which took longer than planned, what with needing to lay the bodies of the dead ReachGuard to rest, and tending to everyone's wounds… including those of one Orc who swore she didn't need healing.

“It's fine, it's just a few aches and pains,” Borgakh growled, glaring mutinously at Kaie.

“It's concussion, a dislocated shoulder, cracked ribs, extensive bruising, and a hairline fracture to the skull. Healer Briala says you're lucky not to be dead,” Kaie snapped, staring her down.

“Yeah, whatever, she's used to treating you lot. We Orcs are tougher,” Borgakh muttered, trying to stand up and not quite managing to hide the wincing. 

“I've treated your brother's wounds,” Healer Briala, a dark-haired Reachwoman with light brown skin and slightly pointed ears, told her. “Orcs get injured too. Do I need to give you the talk on Namirene organisms?”

“Oh Sithis no,” Cicero whispered, going a bit pale. He'd had the talk on the dangers of infection as well before now. Eola's version was particularly detailed.

“You'd do well to listen,” Athis pointed out. “No one wants to die screaming in agony because a wound went bad.”

“I'm not bleeding,” Borgakh said, before grabbing her shoulder, gritting her teeth, and forcing it back into place with an audible popping sound, at which point Cicero made some high-pitched meeping sounds and fled the scene whimpering.

“Sithis's sake,” Kaie breathed before shoving some painkilling potions at her. “Just drink these if nothing else. It's a long way back to the Reach, and we are not carrying you.”

Borgakh muttered but did as told, muttering something about it being a good thing Kaie was pretty. And so once everyone was rested, it was an easy thing to use the wayshrines to get back to Darkfall Cave, and from there Hag's End was only a few hours away. 

“Are you ready for this next bit?” Athis whispered to Serana, who'd got quieter and more pensive the closer they'd got.

“Can you ever be ready to kill your parent?” Serana said softly, eyes downcast and her arms wrapped around herself. “Even Eola probably couldn't have killed Mireen herself.”

Athis wasn't entirely convinced that was the case, but he knew even Eola might not have been able to do it without consequences.

“You don't have to do this,” Athis said quietly. “Everyone would understand if you sat this one out. No one expects you to be the one to kill your own father.”

Serana shuddered but shook her head.

“No, I – I want to be there,” Serana said stubbornly. “I need to see this through. I need to – I don't know. Talk to him. Try and get him to see reason. I don't think he'll surrender but I need to give him that chance.”

“He's not going to take it, you have to know that,” Athis told her, knowing Serana had a tough time ahead of her no matter what happened.

“I know,” Serana said softly. “But whatever happens, I want to be there.”

Athis patted her on the back, understanding. 

“All right then,” Athis said as the outskirts of the vast military camp presently surrounding Deepwood Redoubt's entrance came into view. “Whatever happens, Cicero and I will be there to help.”

“I know. Thank you,” Serana said, smiling faintly. “Come on. We've got a Formerly Auriel's Bow to show off.”

They did indeed. Mission accomplished and a success story to tell. All that remained was to finally take on Harkon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter we have the final battle! And wrapping up all the loose ends, hopefully. Haven't actually written it yet but I'm sure it'll be awesome.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The High Queen of Skyrim is a far cry from the helpless young woman she once was, and she's got plenty of resources at her disposal for the siege on Castle Volkihar. But when the final confrontation happens, it's our heroes facing down Harkon himself. And Harkon's fate isn't the only one in the balance...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LAST CHAPTER! We've got Harkon and the final battle, wrapping up the loose ends, a bit of celebration, and an epilogue involving the birth of the twins. It's a little bittersweet at the end but that's because I'm plotting a Dragon Age crossover involving this lot. Which may end up being posted sooner than you might think! But for now, enjoy the end of the Fearless Vampire Hunters.

Broad daylight, with the clouds shouted away, because Elisif didn't believe in making it easy for any fleeing vampires. Legion ships and boats requisitioned off the East Empire Company (because apparently the Imperial Heir could do that) all lined up to form a pontoon bridge over the Sea of Ghosts. Odahviing taking up a position on top of the watchtower just outside Castle Volkihar, ensuring a swift and fiery end for anyone attempting to leave the castle.

Elisif hadn't exactly approved of Cicero having Auriel's Bow, but she had to admit he was one of the best marksmen they had, and taking it off him to give to someone who'd not been on the mission was just asking for trouble. So she'd relented, despite Madanach pointing out this was a terrible idea, and Isran being even less pleased. Weirdly, Kaie had taken Cicero's side, patting him on the back and saying he'd earned it. Elisif hadn't even thought Kaie had liked Cicero. Clearly travelling with him had won her over a bit.

“Just remember you're one of the few with elven arrows,” Elisif had warned him. “I don't want to find any of them in the back of any of our people, all right? Even Isran.”

Pouting from Cicero, and Elisif had folded her arms and resisted, parental skills apparently helping greatly with dealing with Cicero.

“No,” Elisif said firmly. “I will deal with Isran after the battle. You leave him to me and concentrate on the vampires.”

Cicero had kept pouting but given in. He did have to admit he'd likely be too busy shooting and stabbing vampires to target Isran.

And so the advance guard had started making their way over the bridge, Imperial battering ram at the ready, and while Elisif had asked for the castle to be mostly left intact, it wasn't like it couldn't be rebuilt. 

Then a lone raven fluttered over the channel, landing next to Odahviing, and a few minutes later, Matriarch Keirine made her way out of the tower, illusions on – until several of the ReachGuard advance party, including three Briarheart mages, gathered round her and cast their own illusions, enabling Keirine to drop her own and free her magicka. Then the knives came out, blood flowed, and several Forsworn linked their magicka pools to their Matriarch's.

The resulting ice storm was enough to cover the entire portcullis, and one swing from the ram shattered it into pieces. And then the ram turned on the wooden doors.

Two thuds and then assistance from above. Odahviing landed on the ram, directed his head in and promptly shouted the doors in.

“FUS RO DAH!!!”

The Shout that could send humans flying and that had once killed a High King smashed the doors in, sending them exploding inwards, and as Odahviing retreated with the ram carriers, the vanguard swept in, ReachGuard with wards up and Legionnaires with their long shields locked in formation.

And behind them was the High Queen of Skyrim and her Reach-King husband, along with her special agents, a few Companions hired for the occasion… and Isran with his Dawnguard.

“Get in there and kill them all!” Isran roared, ordering his people in, Aedric shield gleaming around him as he raced into battle, warhammer connecting with a vampire's head. Elisif nodded and let him get on with it, choosing to stay with Serana instead.

“Serana. Where might your father be?” Elisif asked, not seeing anyone around here who looked like a leader, in fact most of the vampires were fighting and dying and the only one who looked in charge was a Dunmer presently being swarmed by Isran, some of the Dawnguard and a couple of Briarhearts.

“Not sure,” Serana said, eyes scanning the room. “Unless… wait, I think he's in the shrine. It's the source of our power, where the initiations happened, he'd feel safe there.”

“Instead of fighting and dying with his people,” Elisif said grimly, her expression making it clear what she thought about that. “Well, let's find him.”

And so they fought their way towards the cathedral area, Serana leading the way, with Athis on one side, Elisif on the other, their swords making short work of any vampire foolish enough to get in their way. Cicero followed behind, flitting from shadow to shadow then striking at anyone in range, and Madanach's magic was also there, sending vampires running screaming as they tried to beat the flames out.

When they found the cathedral gate, the area was mercifully quiet, most of the action taking place in the great hall or the side corridors. But the room was sealed up and Serana was sure he was in there.

“I know how to get that open,” Serana said quietly. “I think he's planned it this way. Me and him, one on one. He wants to talk to me.”

“Sounds like a trap,” Elisif said, frowning. “Well, don't you worry, Serana, I can take care of him for you. Just get the door open.”

“No!” Serana gasped, before remembering she was talking to the High Queen and recollecting herself. “I mean... no. I can do this. Please. Let me talk to him.”

“On your own?” Elisif said, raising an eyebrow. “I don't think that's a good idea!”

“It isn't,” Athis said. “Cicero and I are joining you. You're not doing this alone.”

The relief in Serana's eyes said it all as she squeezed Athis's hand then gave Cicero a hug. 

“All right,” Serana whispered. “Let's do this.”

So she went to unseal the door, Cicero with her, and Athis made to follow… until Elisif stopped him.

“Athis,” she said quietly. “Before you go in there. Take this.”

Elisif was unbuckling Dawnbreaker's scabbard and then handed it over. Dawnbreaker, the gleaming golden sword of fire that had been a gift of Meridia, Daedra of Life. It had already claimed a few undead souls tonight.

“High Queen?” Athis said, trying to work out if she was truly serious about this. “You're giving me your sword? Dawnbreaker itself?”

“I'm lending it to you,” Elisif told him, holding it out to him. “If I can't be there… look, you're one of the best swordsmen in the kingdom, so I'm told. This bites extra hard against undead. I don't know how Meridia will feel about a vampire wielding it, but I don't think she'll mind it being wielded against other vampires. Your intentions are honourable. That's the main thing. And you'll need all the help you can get.”

Athis took the sword, fastening it around his waist, feeling a bit choked up at the mere idea of getting to wield the famous _Dawnbreaker_ of all things. The same sword that had killed Ulfric Stormcloak, and now he got to borrow it.

“Thank you, High Queen,” he managed to say and Elisif nodded, smiling gently and indicating for him to chase after Cicero and Serana.

“Give him a few kicks from me, won't you,” Elisif told him, reaching for Dragonbane instead. “We'll keep any reinforcements from getting in. And if you're not out within an hour, we're coming in after you regardless.”

Sounded like a plan. Athis made a mental note to tell Cicero to flee if it looked like they were losing and get help from the High Queen and Reach-King, because after seeing Kaie successfully use blood magic on Vyrthur, Athis was absolutely sure Madanach and Keirine could do something similar to Harkon.

By this point, Serana had the door unsealed and ready to go.

“Are you ready?” Serana whispered, looking haunted by the task ahead of her.

“Are you?” Athis said, not envying her at all.

“Pretty Serana does not have to do this,” Cicero told her, patting her hand. “Cicero is happy to do the vitally necessary stabbing for her. It has been Cicero's job to resolve family feuds without kin needing to get their hands bloody for many years, after all.”

Which left Athis wondering what sort of mercenary company specialised in murdering people on behalf of vengeful family members, and was that even legal in Cyrodiil, and then it occurred to him Cicero had mentioned nothing about operating within the law, and then certain things started clicking together as Athis suddenly noticed the barely-visible hand outline on the back of Cicero's belt and realised just how Elisif must have escaped the feared Dark Brotherhood. She'd had inside help. Bloody fucking hell. Who else knew?? Did Eola? Madanach? Kaie? Eola had said it was Cicero's story to tell, not hers, which meant she must know, and that meant her kin probably knew as well, because if Eola was going to risk getting romantically involved with a dangerous assassin, she'd want insurance in the event of her mysterious and sudden demise or disappearance.

Jorrvaskr had a Dark Brotherhood assassin under its roof, and the Harbinger condoned it. Athis shook his head, thinking Kodlak must be turning in his grave, which begged the thought – had Kodlak known about his son's past? Athis suspected not. But Cicero had also turned his order in to Elisif, although Athis was also sure it had not been because Cicero had had a change of heart about being a professional murderer. Still, Athis also had to admit Cicero wasn't completely beyond redemption either. He'd been nothing short of supportive to Serana, and his loyalty to his Shield-Siblings was undoubted. Athis decided that Cicero's past could stay that way as far he was concerned, at least unless he found Cicero had started killing innocent people again. Given the state of Skyrim's roads, Cicero would have some way to go before he ran out of criminals to stab.

And right now, they had more things to worry about than Cicero's misspent youth. Serana was shaking her head, smiling at Cicero.

“Thank you, but it needs to be me,” Serana told him. “I want to see it through. But you'll help, right?”

“Absolutely,” Athis promised, at the same time as Cicero squealed and promised he was happy to, Serana knew that!

And so the door swung open, and the three of them entered the cathedral of the Lord of Domination.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Harkon was waiting for them in his Vampire Lord form, gliding out of the shadows of the darkened Gothic chamber that arched above them, dominated by the shrine to Molag Bal at the back of the room. 

“So, daughter. You return, with your… pets. I knew it was only a matter of time before you returned with hatred in your heart.”

“It's not hatred,” Serana said softly. “But I can't let you put the sun out. Stand down. It's over.”

“Over?” Harkon murmured. “Oh, of course, you may claim victory now, with the mortal queen's forces ransacking my court. But when the dust settles, and she claims the bow for her own, what do you think will happen? Do you think she will reward you? Or do you think she will cleanse you next? Or Valerica perhaps? Her type has no truck with anything less than wholesome. I know her kind all too well.” 

Athis thought of Elisif's reaction to his own vampirism. Of Elisif recruiting a dissatisfied Dark Brother and persuading him to turn his erstwhile siblings in, and continuing to protect him. Of marrying the Reach-King and allowing the Daedra-worshipping, blood mage Forsworn to run their own country. Elisif might be a heroic idealist but she was no zealot.

“You don't know the first thing about her,” Athis heard himself say, and Harkon's head whipped round to face him.

“So. You turned down my gift and then acquired it from another source. My daughter? Or did you get yourself infected? No matter. You're still no true vampire. The pair of you are pathetic whelps who I will gladly rip apart for turning my daughter against me.”

Cicero's smile had barely flickered, and trust an assassin to be able to fake virtually any emotional reaction to lull their prey into a false sense of security.

“You can try,” Athis said, shrugging. “But as for turning Serana against you, we left her here barely knowing her. Not our fault she took one look and decided running after a pair of friendly strangers was preferable to living with you.”

Harkon hissed viciously at him but did not say anything further. Serana had stepped in front of Athis before he got the chance.

“No,” Serana snapped. “You will not hurt them.”

Harkon actually blinked, before backing off, eyes narrowing at Serana.

“Has it truly come to this, daughter?” Harkon said grimly, a small flicker of something that might even be regret in his eyes. “You'd take everything I provided for you and throw it away for… for these pathetic creatures??”

“Provided for me?” Serana cried. “Are you insane? You've destroyed our family! Murdered other vampires! All over some prophecy we barely understood, that only got invented because an ancient vampire wanted revenge on a god! No more! We're done!”

“This dragon has fangs,” Harkon noted. “Your words drip with your mother's influence. How alike you've become.”

“Maybe,” Serana said bitterly. “But unlike her, I'm not afraid of you. Not any more.”

Harkon shook his head and turned away, clearly getting irritated.

“So be it. My daughter is lost to me. No vampire can ever truly be friends with a mortal. No bond lasts forever. They all fade in time. No matter. I will be merciful and give you one chance to hand over the bow and leave. I won't ask agai- argh!”

Cicero had rolled his eyes, sighed heavily, raised Not Auriel's Bow Any More, nocked an arrow and shot Harkon in the back while he was busy grandstanding.

“The contract is for Harkon's head,” Cicero said calmly. “Pretty Elisif is offering a lot of money for this. Cicero is… not sorry actually, Cicero is looking forward to it greatly. Say goodbye!”

Harkon snarled at Cicero and turned on his blood magic, and only quick reflexes saved him from injury. Athis drew Dawnbreaker in one hand and his Skyforge blade in the other, while Serana summoned fire into her hands, and the battle was on.

When telling the story later, Athis would be sure to recall that it had been one of the more frustrating fights of his career. First chasing after Harkon, who kept bloody _moving!_ Then the skeletons and gargoyles the man kept summoning, forcing Serana to divert her magic to dealing with them. Maybe it was an excuse not to have to fight her father, but if it was, Athis couldn't begrudge her that. Cicero was still firing, weaving in and out of the shadows, stabbing the odd summons if it got near, but mostly keeping up a steady rate of fire with No Longer Auriel's Bow. Which proved useful when, just as Athis swore he had Harkon cornered, Harkon fled to the altar in the form of a cloud of bats and summoned a blood magic spell of some sort, restoring his health.

Athis swore in an entirely different manner, but Cicero raised his bow, smiling.

“Do not worry, brother, Cicero has this one!” Cicero cooed, and seconds later a Sunhallowed arrow slammed into the shield, which exploded in a shower of golden light.

“Isn't it pretty, brother?” Cicero squealed, and Athis didn't rightly disagree but cooing over the pretty lights was lower down the priority list than dealing with a still dangerous Harkon. 

And so the battle wore on, Athis feeling himself grow weary, and even Drain Life wasn't helping that much, but they were getting there, he was sure of it, and Harkon wasn't summoning as many things as he had been… but nor was Serana, and even Cicero wasn't smiling any more.

“You will not beat me, elf,” Harkon snapped at him, sending another Drain Life blast at Athis, who downed a health potion before realising that had been his last one. Fuck.

“Kill me, I will be avenged,” Athis promised. Jorrvaskr alone would want revenge, and they'd not be the only ones in line.

“You will still be dead,” Harkon gloated, raising his hand for another strike. Athis glanced at Serana, who was still fending off a gargoyle, and Cicero, who'd seen his plight but looked exhausted, pouting as he tried to raise his bow, nothing like as fast as he'd been earlier. Was this it? Was this really how he'd die? He hoped they'd make it sound heroic when they wrote home to his kin.

Athis had just about resigned himself to the inevitable when he became aware of noise outside the door, which had been getting louder for the last few minutes, and Athis swore he recognised Madanach's voice chanting… something.

And then the doors exploded inwards, and the High Queen of Skyrim strode in, Isran on one side, Madanach on the other.

“By order of the High Queen, stand down!” Elisif shouted, and Athis mentally sighed, wishing she'd shouted with the Thu'um rather than words, but that was Elisif all over. She'd do this lawfully or not at all. Harkon turned on her, claws raised to cast Drain Life at her instead, and Madanach and Isran both moved forward, one to slaughter the enemy and the other to rain merry hell on the one who'd dare hurt his wife.

But if Elisif was law and order at its finest, there was one other in the room who operated by very different rules. A born killer with a job to do, and if his arms were too tired to fire any more, his voice was still in fine form.

“YOL TOOR SHUL!”

The fireball engulfed Harkon, who fell back screaming in agony, and Serana actually gasped, horrified. Athis didn't exactly blame her, and he wasn't one to enjoy pain for pain's sake. Not even Harkon's. A strike from Dawnbreaker later and Harkon was dead.

“Good,” Isran growled. “One less bloodsucker in the world.” His eyes swept over Athis and Serana, clearly seeing two more he could wish out of it.

Athis looked at Serana, staring down at Harkon's charred remains with a hand to her mouth, and he went over to her, taking her in his arms and shielding her from having to look.

“Are you all right?” Athis said softly, and Serana shook her head.

“Not really,” Serana admitted. “I mean, I know he had it coming, and if I'm honest, my father really died a long time ago. But that… that was...”

Cicero had sidled over, glee at triumph fading on seeing Serana's face.

“Pretty Serana?” Cicero whispered. “Cicero is sorry… but he was very tired and did not wish to die...”

“It's OK,” Serana said softly, putting an arm round Cicero. “Can we just get out of here?”

Both men agreed and helped her out of the cathedral… only to find a stony-faced High Queen and Reach-King standing in their way, and both of them were glaring at Cicero.

“When the fuck did you learn to breathe fire,” Madanach said dangerously.

“You're not an actual Dragonborn!” Elisif said, her voice accusing and Athis recollected that dragons were known for a dislike of rivals. “Who taught you that?? Wait… was that your price for ferrying a dragon soul to safety?”

Cicero blushed as he admitted this was indeed the case. Elisif and Madanach's furious looks did not abate in the slightest.

“New Reach law,” Madanach intoned. “ _No one_ allowed to breathe fire in the Reach without prior authorisation from the Mournful Throne. Elisif cariad, you're authorised.”

Elisif inclined her head with a smile before turning to Cicero, who was already starting to pout.

“No one not a Jarl of Skyrim allowed to breathe fire in inhabited areas without the Jarl's permission,” Elisif announced. “Be sure I'll be writing to the other Jarls without delay to inform them of this.”

“And be very sure they'll write that into their own legal codes the minute they see the note attached to the declaration informing them you learnt how to breathe fire,” Madanach added. “Also note that every jenever distillery in Skyrim or the Reach has local by-laws banning naked flames anywhere within a hundred feet of the premises.”

Even Cicero understood the logic behind that one, and subsided, although the pout didn't leave his face.

“Never mind, Cicero,” Athis soothed him. “We'll find you a bandit camp to play with soon enough.”

Which cheered the little jester up a little. And with the matter of fire-breathing dealt with, Isran stepped forward.

“Still got two vampires breathing,” Isran noted. “High Queen, I warned you before, you can't trust them.”

“So you said,” Elisif said coldly. “But I believe I know who I can and can't trust. I know who brought me news of where Harkon was and what he was planning. Who retrieved a long-lost artefact of Auriel. Who was of more use to me this whole time than your people were.”

“What??” Isran gasped, eyes shooting to the three vampire hunters. “You mean… you're planning to reward these three?”

“Argis is sorting out the coin as we speak, it'll be on its way to Jorrvaskr shortly,” Elisif said cheerfully. “And then there's the little matter of clearing out and refitting this place. I could do with another port in my Hold. I'm told there's even a harbour on the west side. You can be sure I'll be making use of that. But that requires coin, and that requires taxes. With the present emergency over, I think any vampires remaining will think twice before attacking innocents. Which means I see no further need for the Dawnguard to benefit from the public purse at taxpayers' expense… and speaking of taxpayers, I think the Dawnguard can have that status restored to it now.”

“You – you!” Isran roared, one hand reflexively going to his weapon… and then he realised it was five on one, and not a one of the others was unskilled. Not to mention that Elisif was, at the end of the day, Queen of Skyrim.

“High Queen,” Isran growled, before accepting the inevitable and stalking out.

“Is he going to pose a problem?” Madanach said, narrowing his eyes at the man's back. Elisif shrugged.

“Perhaps. But political power in Skyrim comes from the ground up – the people choose their Jarl, the Jarls choose the High King or Queen, and the High Queen or King decides if we stay in the Empire or not. And the common people have, the way I hear it, been getting rather sick of Dawnguard soldiers killing maybe-vampires. It's about time the rule of law reasserted itself, and that means Jarls dispensing justice on the basis of evidence, not vigilantes deciding who's guilty.”

“Although if Isran turns up dead, the Mournful Throne will be extremely happy,” Madanach put in cheerfully, Elisif's pointed glare not fazing him even slightly. “Just, er, maybe wait until Maven's taxed the Dawnguard until it falls apart and Isran's sunny personality does the rest, eh?”

“Madanach!” Elisif hissed, smacking him on the arm, before turning to Serana, official Queen persona fading and the more motherly one asserting itself. 

“How are you feeling?” Elisif said gently. “You don't look so good. I know it wasn't easy for you, but you have my thanks. I know I talked about turning this place into a port of my Hold, but with your father gone, this place is rightfully yours. Did you want to be Thane of Port Volkihar?”

Serana's eyes widened at the mere idea, but she didn't look happy.

“I – I don't know,” Serana admitted. “I'm not sure I want to live here again. Too many memories. But… there's my mother. She's still alive and in the Soul Cairn. I think she'd like to live here.”

“Hmm,” Elisif said, frowning. “I don't know her, and nor do the Hold. But there's no law against a Thane appointing a steward of their choice to look after their holding. Do you think she'd agree to that? She'll need to abide by Skyrim's laws, which means no human sacrifices, and that thing in there has to go.”

“Take it,” Serana said, shuddering, and Madanach promptly detached himself to find Keirine and tell her they'd just acquired a shrine to Molag Bal and to start transporting it back to the Reach, and then Keirine heard about the Soul Cairn portal, practically squealed and immediately dispatched two Briarhearts to find it and retrieve Valerica.

“Well, that's that taken care of,” Elisif sighed. “Thank the Eight for the Reachmen, they really don't flinch at anything, do they?” She turned back to Serana, still looking thoughtful. “You're a mage yourself, aren't you? Your mother trained you, above and beyond any vampiric powers you might have, so I'm told.”

“That's right,” Serana said, wondering where this was going. “Mother was the mage in the family. Father may have worshipped Molag Bal, but he never had much to do with the arcane until he realised he was dying. He was always a warrior and king, first and foremost. He left the magic to us.”

“Interesting,” Elisif mused. “Well, Serana, if you won't be living here, I have an alternative offer. Harkon's people murdered my court mage, and so I need a replacement. I can't ask Madanach for one, and half my people think I'm overly influenced by the Reachmen anyway. So before I send to Winterhold or start advertising, I'm offering it to you. What do you say? A generous personal salary, bed and board at the Blue Palace, access to all your predecessor's resources, a generous research allowance, access to the Bards' College library and permission to requisition anything you like from another court mage or the College of Winterhold's library, although they can also send requests to you and requisitions are temporary unless you actually buy the item – look, there's a whole agreement all the court mages sign, Argis has a copy, come to Solitude and we'll go over it. What do you say?”

“But I'm a vampire,” Serana breathed, never having expected this in a million years. Court mage was a place of respectability, security. It wouldn't last forever, but it was a fresh start, a chance to start over… and hadn't she always wanted to live in Solitude? She couldn't believe Elisif was truly serious.

“So was my last one, it turns out,” Elisif said ruefully. “It was why Harkon targeted her – an attack at my court, intended to remove a rival vampire and a key source of knowledge about vampirism. Apparently she used to feed on prisoners in Castle Dour dungeons. It's not exactly a practice I condone – but there's often someone in there who deserves it. Also, there's bandit haunts and smugglers all along the coast. You hunt where you like among them.”

“Really?” Serana whispered, overjoyed. Elisif nodded, smiling. So Serana accepted, and with Cicero and Athis as witnesses, Elisif made Serana Thane of Castle Volkihar and Court Mage of Solitude, and Serana tearfully accepted before hugging the High Queen and promising she wouldn't let her down.

It only left the clear up to start, but Elisif's soldiers could get on with that, so the three adventurers made to go home… only to get as far as the great hall to find Eola of all people there, pouting sadly at all the bloodied body parts being carted out in front of her… and being told off by Kaie.

“Are you well enough to be here?” Kaie snapped. “You were shot by the Dawnguard barely two weeks ago, not even that. Da sees you here, he'll have a fit.”

“I'm sure he's very busy,” Eola sighed. “Look, I just came to see what had happened and make sure everyone was all right! What about Athis and Cicero and Serana, are they…?”

“PRETTY EOLAAAAAAA!!!”

Eola just about managed to stay upright as Cicero pounced, apparently feeling energetic enough to cuddle his wife, as always. 

“Cicero!” Eola gasped, hugging him and then Athis, and then she greeted Serana with a smile. “So, you did it then?”

Serana nodded, trying not to think of her father's burnt husk of a corpse.

“Harkon's gone,” Serana said firmly. “We… well, Cicero and Athis really, killed him.”

“It was nothing,” Cicero said modestly, at the same time as Athis pointed out that without Serana dealing with all the various things Harkon had been summoning, they'd have had a harder time wearing Harkon down, and then everyone agreed Elisif storming the cathedral chamber had been the key distraction that had let them finally kill him.

“That sounds like her,” Eola grinned. “Big hero riding to the rescue. Also, did I see Isran storming out with a whole troop of Dawnguard just now?”

“Yes,” Kaie put in, grinning a bit at this. “Our stepmother has decided his tax-free status is at an end, along with his government funding. I think she will also be sending the Jarls a gentle reminder that vigilanteism is not actually legal and that suspected vampires must be brought before a Jarl for trial unless you actually catch them in the act of lawbreaking and they attack you. The Reach is already offering a discount for court mages on the Litany of Griselda.”

“That's the anti-blood magic and mind control chant,” Eola told Serana. “You can have it for free if you like, most Reach mages of any stature know it. I memorised it by the time I was twelve. Didn't trust Ma.”

Kaie rolled her eyes but Serana thanked her.

“I'm going to be a court mage myself,” Serana admitted. “Elisif made me her new court mage, seeing as Harkon had the last one killed. I'm moving to Solitude!”

“But that's amazing!” Eola whispered, wiping her eyes. “That's… that's really great, I'm so proud! Wait, why am I crying??”

There followed a horrified stare from Kaie as Eola started crying and Athis went to comfort her, while Serana looked horribly guilty and Cicero just giggled nervously.

“Eola doesn't cry,” Kaie whispered. “Eola _never_ cries! Ma used to beat us for crying, we both sort of stopped – mother of Kyne, what's wrong with her??”

“It wasn't my fault, was it?” Serana said, cringing a little. Cicero shook his head.

“No. Yes. Sort of. Cicero thinks Eola will miss you, and it will be only a few months before travelling becomes harder if not impossible for her, and that is part of it, but the rest is likely just hormones. We have anything up to seven months of this ahead, isn't it marvellous!”

“Seven months… wait, hormones… hang on,” Kaie said, working out what no one in her family had got around to telling her yet. “Do you mean to tell me Eola's pregnant??”

“Um,” Eola admitted, nodding her head, at the same time as Cicero squealed “Yes! Cicero is going to be a papa! And Athis too! We're having twins!”

“ _Twins??_ ” Kaie gasped. “Are you serious? Does Da know yet?”

“Yeah,” Eola admitted. “I thought he'd told you, I'm sorry. Er. Yeah. You're gonna be an auntie. And… they're in line to take over one day if you don't have kids. You should probably get working on that, you know...”

“Working on it??” Kaie cried. “What, with you pregnant with the next generation? Are you having a laugh, Eola? I'm fine with it. Never liked the idea of being pregnant anyway. I've heard too many stories from Auntie Keirine. But don't worry, she's never lost a mother yet. Sithis, I'm going to be an auntie! And… and I don't need to have kids. I don't need a husband. I don't… Borgakh!”

Borgakh the Steel Heart turned from where she was supervising the first of the vampire cattle being brought out of the cells for the healers to look at, even as Elisif and Madanach were looking grimly on at the sight of terrified human beings flinching away, too afraid to trust they were really safe at last.

“What is it?” Borgakh asked, surprised to see Kaie looking so emotional, and even more so when Kaie hugged her.

“I don't have to get married!” Kaie cried. “Eola's pregnant, I don't need heirs! I can leave the Mournful Throne to one of them!”

“That… what, really?” Borgakh said, surprised, and then everyone got a shock as Borgakh's face softened. “So… no husband for you?”

“No!” Kaie laughed. “I can have whoever I want!”

“And whoever you want would be allowed to beat down rivals if they had to,” Borgakh said shrewdly.

“I think whoever I want wouldn't have very many rivals once the news got out she'd be the one they needed to challenge,” Kaie said, stepping forward and taking Borgakh's hands… before dropping to her knees, and if Eola crying was near-unheard of, this was even rarer, Kaie showing submission to anyone.

“I love you, Lady Steel-Heart,” Kaie said, voice trembling a little. “Will you… will you marry me?”

Borgakh looked shocked to even have the question be asked.

“What, seriously?” she demanded. “You want to marry me?”

“Yes, or I wouldn't be asking in front of an entire castle of my father and stepmother's troops,” Kaie sighed. “Come on, what do you say? I love you, you love me, what else is there?”

“You don't even care about bride-price or dowries or your father's opinion or anything, do you?” Borgakh said in wonder.

“I won't lie, it'll be a cheap wedding with about five people in attendance if he disapproves,” Kaie admitted. “But I have high hopes Elisif and Keirine will talk him round.”

Borgakh stared at her, and if Eola being emotional and Kaie being submissive were strange sights, a tearful Orc was something else.

“You mean it, don't you,” Borgakh whispered and Kaie nodded.

“Of course! You gonna give me an answer or what, my knees are starting to hurt – eek!”

Borgakh reached down, hauled Kaie to her feet in one go and pulled her to her chest, kissing her. When she finally put Kaie down, there were tears in her eyes and both women looked flushed.

“Course I'll marry you,” Borgakh said gruffly. “No one I'd rather have more.”

That was the point Kaie did actually start crying as she cuddled her lover again and led her away to tell her father… and Borgakh's brother, who'd have a few opinions of his own on the matter… but mostly both men were pleased to see their kin happy. 

The four vampire hunters stood back, gathered in a little group, looking on as Madanach hugged Kaie and then Borgakh, and then Borkul was patting Kaie on the back, no doubt passing on jovial threats as to what would happen if Borgakh was unhappy in her marriage, and all in all everything looked set for a very fancy Forsworn wedding in a few months' time.

“At which I will be too fat to party, and also unable to drink,” Eola sighed. “Fucking marvellous.”

“Cicero will still love you,” Cicero cooed, snuggling Eola. “Who knows, maybe Madanach will need to save up for it, delaying it until after the children are born.”

Which would not help as much as Eola liked, as then she'd have to spend all day tending to babies, but at least there might be alcohol available later on. It was something. Maybe she could find babysitters. 

“Did I just hear right?” a commanding female voice demanded, and all four looked up to see the Companions gathering round – Aela the Huntress, Ria, Vilkas, Torvar, and Farkas up from Solitude because no one started fights without him if he had any say in the matter.

“Did you say something about children?” Aela said firmly. “Eola, are you pregnant??”

“Er. Yeah,” Eola admitted. “And I'm raising them at Jorrvaskr. Hope this isn't going to be a problem for anyone.”

“We will try and ensure they do not bother you!” Cicero chirped hopefully.

“It's twins,” Athis added. “Sorry about that.”

It was hard to describe the reaction as enthusiasm exactly, but Companions were men and women of honour and would not kick their Harbinger out just because she'd got pregnant.

“Is a mead hall any place for kids?” Torvar queried uncertainly. “There's a lot of swearin' an' fightin' in a mead hall...”

“We grew up there, we turned out all right,” Vilkas said with a shrug. “But, er, you might want to keep the language down around them.”

“I was actually born in Jorrvaskr,” Aela admitted. “Yours won't be the first. So, does your father know?”

“Yeah,” Eola sighed. “We can expect half the ReachGuard to descend on Jorrvaskr for security reasons. Da takes the safety of his heirs very seriously.”

“Jarl Balgruuf will love that,” Aela commented. “But if they pull their weight and help out with jobs, I've no objection.”

“Kodlak would have loved that, a mead hall full of the Forsworn,” Vilkas sighed. “But… we do have spare beds for a few of them, and if there's healers and servants, not just warriors, Tilma could do with the help.”

The distinction between warrior and domestic servant wasn't as clear-cut amongst tribal Reachmen, most of whom cleaned up after themselves and normally organised a laundry rota, and could almost all cook. But Eola decided that could wait until they all arrived. And then Cicero spoke up.

“Kodlak would – would have accepted it,” Cicero snapped. “Kodlak would be pleased. Kodlak would have accepted the need to protect the little ones. Kodlak… here! Read! They are not just heirs of the Reach and children of the present Harbinger! They are Kodlak's grandchildren! Cicero is… is Kodlak's child. He believed so, anyway. See, see!”

“Give me that,” Vilkas snapped, scanning the text while Aela and Ria read over his shoulder, and when he got to the bit where Kodlak named Cicero as his, he read out loud for Farkas's benefit. All the Companions stared and looked up at a man who admittedly did not look a lot like Kodlak… but Kodlak had believed, and they'd never doubted their former Harbinger yet.

“You're Kodlak's son??” Farkas whispered, awed. Cicero nodded, suddenly looking a bit nervous.

“Er. Yes. Brother? What is it – eeeeeee!!!!!”

Farkas swept Cicero up into his arms, squeezing him tight as Cicero squealed and put up a token resistance, although it got a little bit less token as Cicero's air supply began to run out..

“I'm gonna be an uncle!” Farkas gasped, letting Cicero go. Cicero, still a little dazed, nodded enthusiastically.

“Yes! Uncle Farkas and Uncle Vilkas and Auntie Aela! Born to Jorrvaskr and able to tell stories of their grandfather to the little ones!”

“Aye,” Vilkas said, wiping a tear from his own eye. “Kodlak's grandchildren. It'll be a privilege to help rear them.”

Eola would see how this played out when the reality of two demanding babies hit them all, but Vilkas was a twin himself. He'd understand, she was sure. There was just one last thing she needed to talk to Athis about, so she took him to one side as everyone prepared to leave.

“So Athis, I was talking with Auntie Keirine, and she's been in correspondence with this summoner out in Morthal, Falion.”

Athis had heard of Falion. A Redguard mage, mistrusted by the locals initially, but they'd learned to at least put up with him. He'd heard lots of things about Falion's experiments, but no one had ever found him doing anything unethical or illegal, so the matter was usually dropped.

“What of him, Eola?” Athis said, guarded. He'd be willing to work with a mage, but he had his limits. The Reachmen tended… not to.

“He says he can cure vampirism,” Eola said in a rush. “There's a price, but I'd help, and you wouldn't… I mean, you never wanted to in the first place, did you? You'd be back how you were.”

Athis barely remembered how he had been. But he remembered being fine with sunlight, loving the warmth in fact. It might be nice to have that back. It would certainly be nice to no longer have the hunger, no longer being able to smell blood. But the potions kept it manageable, and the night sky these days was _beautiful_.

“What's the price?” Athis asked.

“One black soul gem,” Eola said, sounding a little hesitant. “A filled black soul gem. But don't worry! Cicero and I can get one for you, it's not a problem!”

Athis thought of the Soul Cairn, where the trapped soul would end up. A featureless barren wasteland, trapped there eternally until the Ideal Masters needed you for something and destroyed you. Azura have mercy, no one deserved that fate.

“No,” said Athis vehemently. “No, Eola, I'm not doing it. I wouldn't send my worst enemy to that place. I'd rather live with the vampirism.”

Eola said nothing, just staring at him, and then she took his hand, all the while shaking her head.

“That sounds so like you,” Eola sighed. “Too damn principled, that's your trouble. Well, if you change your mind, let me know. And if I can track down someone who _does_ deserve it, will you consider it then?”

“If you can find someone so lost to principle that the world is truly better off without them, I will think about it,” Athis promised, and Eola did smile at that.

“Don't worry. Someone will turn up,” Eola promised. “These types always do. Dammit, should have got Cicero to try and trap Harkon...”  
Athis couldn't decide if that was a good thing or not. But he did know that Eola might have a point. Someone might turn up one day who truly deserved the Soul Cairn. All the same, he wasn't pinning his hopes on it. He'd have to see what life drove him to. For now though, he could live with himself as he was, vampire or no.

And so, with the world safe, the fearless vampire hunters went home. In time, Serana would take up her post as Solitude's court mage, and Valerica would return from the Soul Cairn, become Castle Volkihar's steward and set about turning the place into a major trading hub, not to mention striking up a fruitful research partnership with Matriarch Keirine, her nearest neighbour at Hag's End. Peace returned to Skyrim, and the Reach. Kaie married Borgakh in an open-air Forsworn ceremony in Last Seed. Eola brought the whole of Jorrvaskr along to keep her company, and Serana came along with the Solitude court as well.

And towards the end of Sun's Dusk, half the Reach descended on Whiterun, as Eola neared the end of her pregnancy and the Reach's most skilled midwives and healers arrived. Jarl Balgruuf was not exactly keen, but there'd been talks and money changing hands, and there'd not been too much trouble with the locals. And so, after a gruelling twelve-hour labour, Eola was delivered of two tiny twin girls.

Needless to say, their grandfather had arrived as soon as the labour pains had started, bringing the High Queen with him, and said Dragonborn High Queen had barely taken her eyes off the babies from the moment she first laid eyes on them.

Trepidation. Worry. Anxiety at the appearance of two new Dragonborns, and the reincarnation of Miraak at that. But Elisif spoke to no one but Madanach of this, and when she peered into their cradle, all of that vanished out of her head.

“But… they're just babies,” Elisif whispered.

“Course they're babies, what were you expecting?” Eola said sleepily from the bed. Tired, exhausted, still sore and generally not the most maternal of people anyway, Eola had glanced at her kids, smiled at them then collapsed back onto the pillows and let their fathers coo over them. One had conspicuously been doing that rather more than the other.

“They are lovely, aren't they?” Cicero whispered, and he'd barely stopped staring at them since Keirine had placed them in his arms. “They're so tiny! So small! Look at their little feet!”

“I know!” Elisif had whispered. “Goodness, look at them. I was expecting… I don't know. Something… something impressive or terrifying. But they're just babies.”

“They are!” Cicero cooed, a man enthralled. “Do you think… do you think we could cuddle them? One each?”

“I think so,” Elisif said with a smile. “If Eola doesn't mind?”

Eola vaguely waved in her general direction, and lying next to her, Athis stroked her hair and grinned.

“Cicero. They're your kids. You're allowed to cuddle and play with them. I think it damages them if you don't.”

Cicero squeaked and picked a twin up. She had a label dangling from her wrist with a number 2 on it.

“Wait, you labelled the twins??” Elisif said, scooping up number one in her arms. Cicero rolled his eyes as if she was a bit stupid.

“They are identical babies,” Cicero sighed. “We need some way of telling one from the other! They do not answer to their names yet. They don't officially _have_ names yet. Although we think that one might end up as Amalia Kodlina, and this little one may well end up as Stelmaria Madania.”

After their grandparents and Eola's dead sister. Elisif found it hard to disapprove of that. So she held unofficially-Amalia in her arms and found it hard to hold anything against either child.

 _A baby, a baby, I want another baby._ They were just so tiny and cute and Elisif honestly never got tired of cuddling babies. Then the door opened and Granda Madanach arrived, holding hands with an eighteen month old toddler who was concentrating very hard on putting one foot in front of the other. Maia Jordis Eithne Elisifsdottir ap Madanach, Princess of Skyrim and the Reach, wasn't very good at walking yet, but could certainly manage it for a bit at a time before falling over or getting tired, and more to the point, was very insistent on trying.

“Look, little one, your sister's had the babies now!” Madanach murmured. “There they are!”

“Mama!” Maia cried, beaming up at Elisif then frowning at the baby in her arms. “Mama?”

Elisif knelt down, managing to hold not-yet-Amalia in one arm while holding a hand out to her daughter, who let go of Madanach and slowly picked her way over, frowning a bit.

“Mama?” Maia whispered, cuddling up to Elisif and staring at the baby. “Who dat?”

“This is a baby. She doesn't have a name yet,” Elisif explained. “She's Eola and Cicero and Athis's baby. Cicero's cuddling the other one. There's two of them. They're cute, aren't they?”

Maia wrinkled her nose and stared at the baby, still frowning.

“Baby,” Maia repeated. “Ola 'n Sisro 'n Athis baby.”

“Yes, that's right,” Elisif said, ruffling Maia's hair. “Eola and Athis and Cicero's baby.”

Maia seemed to cheer up at that and cuddled her, smiling.

“Not Mama baby,” Maia said firmly. “I Mama baby!”

“Yes you are,” Elisif promised, realising that had been the problem, Maia had seen another baby in her arms and immediately worried Elisif wouldn't want her any more. Which… probably meant waiting a year or two before having another, didn't it? Maybe talking to Maia first too.

Elisif kissed Maia and went to put Amalia back in the cradle, noticing Madanach already taking going-to-be Stelmaria off Cicero and crooning over her. Then she heard her husband make a strange little noise in his throat and cry out.

“Cicero, look at that. Look at the ears. Are those… points?”

Quiet and then Cicero squealed.

“Ooooohhhh!!! She does, she does! Athis, Athis! They've got your ears!”

“Inheritance doesn't work like that!” Athis sighed wearily. “They're not elves! Or half-elves.”

Elisif looked closer at soon-to-be Amalia and realised that sure enough, the tips of her ears weren't rounded but delicate little points. Not as obviously pointy as an elf's… but pointed in a way hers weren't.

“But… how did they get pointy ears if they're not Athis's?” Elisif said, confused.

“We were Aldmeri slaves once, a lot of high elf blood made its way into ours,” Madanach said gruffly. “Ear-points sometimes still crop up – they say my mother had them. It's considered a sign of good fortune… and attractiveness.”

Another delighted squeal from Cicero, and the baby in Madanach's arms started to fuss. Cicero immediately lowered his voice and whispered softly to his little one.

“Little one, do not be sad! You and your sister are pretty!” Then his voice hardened as he whispered to Madanach.

“Madanach. We will need to be careful. There will be… suitors. We will need to deal with them.”

Madanach nodded sagely and patted Cicero with his free hand. 

“I'll have the ReachGuard on alert. You keep an eye on the ReachGuard. It's often the bodyguards they elope with, just look at Kaie.”

“ _Agreed!_ ” Cicero growled, shaking hands with his father-in-law and grinning demonically, and Elisif made a mental note to keep an eye on those two, neither girl would ever have any freedom if Cicero and Madanach had their way. Nordic fairytales had many young ladies trapped in towers by overprotective kin and they always ended up eloping with the handsome prince anyway. Of course, Eola had also told her the Reach equivalents which had the princess being cared for by a witch who'd trained her, and when the prince turned up, the princess had not infrequently lured him in, slept with him anyway, killed and eaten him, and then the witch and princess had raised the resulting child as the next generation. Which was no comfort at all. 

All the same, the babies would need someone to listen. Elisif put the one she was holding back in the cradle and went to tend to her own. Who was standing there fingering her ears and looking confused.

“Mama?” Maia asked, worried. “I point-ears?”

Elisif knelt down and cuddled her, stroking Maia's ear.

“No, darling, you don't have pointed ears,” Elisif soothed her. If anything, Maia looked a bit disappointed.

“Oh,” Maia whispered, sadness in her eyes. “Mama, I pretty?”

What a bizarre question – but it also occurred to Elisif Maia must have heard pointed ears described as pretty, realised she didn't have them and was now worrying.

“I think you're adorable,” Elisif told her, pulling Maia into her arms. “You're my brave, cute, lovely Maia!”

Maia beamed and cuddled her, and while Maia's speech really wasn't very good yet, she understood a lot more than anyone gave her credit for. But Elisif saw and Elisif always made an effort to listen and to talk to Maia and try and include her in conversations. It seemed to be paying off. Maia seemed to appreciate the attention anyway.

And so the evening wore on and eventually Maia got tired and her father was flagging a bit too, and Elisif decided enough was enough and took them both back to their room at Dragonsreach.

Of course, it wasn't exactly warm at this time of year, and the coughing fit that took Madanach on the way up the steps was not encouraging.

“Are you alright?” Elisif whispered as Madanach sat on a step, wheezing and getting his breath back.

“It's a cold. It's nothing,” Madanach growled.

It was not nothing, and they both knew it.

“I'll get you back to the room and get your chest-rub and elixirs,” Elisif promised. It would take more than chest-rub and elixirs to fix Madanach's wrecked lungs and they both knew that too.

“Elisif,” Madanach said softly as she helped him up. “If… if I don't live to see them reach adulthood… you need to make sure my girls are all right. For Mara's sake, please, look after my grandkids. And Maia. Argis will help, I swear it.”

That Madanach had clearly already had this conversation with Argis was something Elisif wasn't pleased about, but that it was necessary at all was worse.

“You're not going to die,” Elisif whispered. “You'll live til you're a hundred and see your great-grandkids born.”

Madanach's face twisted into an unconvincing smile and he shook his head.

“Not without divine intervention, and I don't think the gods are that fond of me, cariad,” Madanach said softly. “Whatever happens, never forget I love you and always will, until the day I die.”

And that day could be sooner than any of them might wish, and the thought broke Elisif's heart. And not just hers. 

“Daddy?” Maia didn't often sound that plaintive, and Madanach turned round to put an arm round her and cuddle her.

“Daddy ill?” Maia whispered. “Daddy get better soon?”

“Daddy get better soon,” Madanach promised, a promise he could never keep, but Maia didn't need to know that. Not yet. And so Maia cheered up and toddled after them, and between a father who was falling apart and a little girl who was only just getting the hang of this walking thing, it took them a while to find their way back to their quarters. But they were her family, and Elisif wouldn't trade them for anything. She'd do anything to keep them safe. Absolutely anything, and one day, that might just turn all their lives upside down. But for now, Elisif would sleep in her husband's arms, with Maia tucked up in her own little bed, and feel grateful for everything life had given her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it! I hope you enjoyed it. If you are at all familiar with Dragon Age, there will be a crossover with that universe involving Elisif as Inquisitor and Herald of Andraste, and Madanach as the scandalous apostate blood mage husband who everyone thinks is up to something. If you're not... up to you if you read it, but if you do, just think of it as lots of new OCs (except they're not my OCs but they're still awesome).
> 
> In the meantime, thanks for all the nice reviews!


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